Skip to main content

Full text of "Impressions that remained : memoirs"

See other formats


HANDBOUND 
AT  THE 


UNIVERSITY  OF 
TORONTO  PRESS 


IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED 

VOLUME   I 


THE  AUTHOR,  AGED  ABOUT  5. 


IMPRESSIONS 
THAT    REMAINED 

1 

MEMOIRS 


BY  f 

ETHEL  SMYTH 

Mus.  Doc. 
IN  TWO  VOLUMES— VOL.   I 


PART  I 

THE  SMYTH  FAMILY  ROBINSON 
(....  TO  1877) 

PART  II 

GERMANY  AND  Two  WINTERS  IN  ITALY 
(1877  TO  1880) 


WITH   ILLUSTRATIONS 


SECOND    EDITION 


o 


LONGMANS,  GREEN,  AND  CO. 

39    PATERNOSTER    ROW,    LONDON 

FOURTH  AVENUE  &  SOTH  STREET,  NEW  YORK 

BOMBAY,  CALCUTTA,  AND  MADRAS 

1919 


ML 

Hio 


.l 


IN   MEMORY   OF  M.  E.  P. 

(THE  HON.  LADY  PONSONBY) 

AND  OF  OUR  LONG  FRIENDSHIP 

1890-1916 

I  find  Lady  Ponsonby,  the  wise  judge,  the  firm  Liberal, 
more  and  more  delightful ;  at  last  one  feels  she  is  getting 
old — she  is  eighty-two.  She  is  like  a  fine  flame  kindled 
by  sea-logs  and  sandalwood — good  to  watch  and  good 
to  warm  the  mind  at,  and  the  heart  too. 

EDITH  SICHEL  (1914). 


CONTENTS 

OF 

THE  FIRST  VOLUME 
PART  I.    THE  SMYTH  FAMILY  ROBINSON 

PAGE 

INTRODUCTION          •       r       •       *       •  •  •       z 

CHAPTER  I  (.  .  .  TO  1867). 

Origins.  Professor  Smyth ;  his  Works  and  his  Friends.  My 
Grandfather ;  his  Speeches  to  the  Yeomanry  during  the  Riots. 
My  Sisters  and  eldest  Brother  .......  .  .  •  3 

CHAPTER  II  (.  .  .  TO  1867) 

Sidcup     Place    described.     Childish     Memories    and    Adventures. 

Crimes  and  Punishments.     Amusements.     My  '  Passions.'  13 

CHAPTER  III  (.  .  .  TO  1867) 

Relations.  Hugo  J.,  the  family  Artist.  The  redoubtable  Colonel 
O'H.  Old  Indians.  Household  Hindustani.  Bonnemaman ; 
the  '  Legend  ' ;  her  second  Husband  ;  her  Difficulties  ;  her 
Men  Friends.  The  Agra  Bank  fails  .  •* ', '  "'.  .  «  ,  .  24 

CHAPTER  IV  (MY  FATHER) 

My  Father's  Indian  Beginnings  ;  his  Popularity ;  his  County  Work  ; 
his  Politics  ;  his  Dislike  of  the  Artistic  Temperament ;  his 
Reading  of  the  Lessons  ;  his  Characteristics  and  Verbal  Slips  ; 
his  Leniency  and  Rigidity ;  his  Death.  A  valedictory  Notice  .  35 

CHAPTER  V  (MY  MOTHER) 

My  Mother's  Education  in  France ;  she  marries,  and  goes  to  India ; 
her  foreign  Ways  and  Unconventionality  ;  her  Appearance  ;  her 
Love  of  Society  ;  her  Gifts  for  Languages  and  Music  ;  her 
difficult  Character  and  Loveableness  ;  her  great  Sorrow  ;  is 
bored  by  having  Visitors  to  stay  ;  the  Monotony  of  her  Life ; 
her  ill  Health  and  Death  ...  ...  44 


viii  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  VI  (A  RETROSPECT) 

PAGE 

We  leave  Sidcup  for  Frimhurst.  Our  social  Framework.  Neigh- 
bourliness,  with  Limitations.  Parties  and  Balls.  Relations 
with  the  Village.  Outdoor  Relief.  Moral  Conditions  and 
Drunkenness  in  Frimley  .......  55 

CHAPTER  VII  (1867  TO  1872) 

My  early  musical  tendencies.  Arrival  at  Frimhurst.  Our  new  Home 
described.  Birth  of  Bob.  Johnny  goes  to  Westminster.  Dr. 
Charles  Scott  (Uncle  Charles)  and  his  Wife  (Aunt  Susan).  A 
Tragedy  on  Fox  Hills  ........  61 

CHAPTER  VIII  (1867  TO  1872) 

Our  Governesses.  Miss  Hammond's  Chignon.  The  Franco- Prussian 
War.  Catalogues  of  '  Passions  '  and  '  Things  to  be  Avoided.' 
Education.  Frimley  Green  and  the  Fair.  Skating  and  Donkeys. 
A  Churchyard  Episode.  A  Fight  in  the  '  Three-Decker.'  Mary 
and  I  perform  at  Village  Entertainments.  A  religious  Im- 
pression. We  perform  at  Aldershot.  My  Father's  Speech. 
The  Conjuror 68 

CHAPTER  IX  (1867  TO  1872) 

Alice's  Proposal  Scene.  Our  Boy-Admirers.  '  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Smith.' 
Musical  Tortures.  An  imaginary  Tragedy.  Lying.  I  deter- 
mine to  study  Music  at  Leipzig.  My  Father  retires  and  buys 
Frimhurst.  '  Larking '  the  Horses.  Farmyard  Episodes. 
My  Father  as  Country  Gentleman  .....  78 

CHAPTER  X  (1872  AND  1873) 

Our  Diaries.  Mary  and  I  go  to  School.  Our  Life  there.  I  hear 
Patti.  Inward  Conflicts.  Confirmation.  A  distressing  Con- 
version. Early  '  Poems.'  The  Priest's  Love  Affair  and 
Mr.  Longman  .  .  .  .  '  .  /  .  .  .  89 

CHAPTER  XI  (1873  TO  1875) 

The  Children  and  Miss  Gobell.  Their  Theatricals.  Queer  neigh- 
bours. A  Dance  at  the  Longmans.  The  Drain  Adventure. 
Colonel  Mclvor  and  Madame  de  S.  I  leave  School,  learn 
Italian,  and  fail  for  the  Cambridge  Local  Examination.  Alice's 
and  Mary's  Marriages.  Johnny's  Death  .  .  .  101 

CHAPTER  XII  (1875  AND  1876) 

Music  and  Religion.  Social  Ambition  Phase.  The  Ewings.  '  Aunt 
Judy.'  Mr.  Ewing  gives  me  Harmony  Lessons.  My  Father's 
Aversion  to  him.  The  lessons  are  stopped.  I  visit  the  O'H.'s 
in  Ireland.  My  Engagement  to  Mr.  Willie  Wilde.  I  come  out. 
Balls.  A  Sentimental  Illusion  .  .  .  .  .  .109 


CONTENTS  ix 

CHAPTER  XIII  (1876  AND  1877) 

PAGE 

A  Wagner  Concert.  I  break  the  Filly.  Country  House  visiting. 
'  Schon  Rothraut.'  Reels  and  a  Hunt.  Indroduction  to 
Madame  Schumann.  First  Acquaintance  with  Brahms' s  Music. 
My  Leipzig  Project  announced.  My  Father's  Fury.  George 
Eliot  at  St.  James's  Hall.  Visit  to  two  Artists.  Friends  who 
backed  me  up.  Militant  Methods  at  Home.  Capitulation 
of  my  Father.  Departure  for  Leipzig  .  .  .  .  121 

APPENDIX  I 

(a)  Letter  from  Mrs.  Opie,  March  1848          ..'"       .         >  •  .128 

(&)  Letters  from  S.D.,  a  Schoolboy  Admirer,  aged  thirteen  ,  .     129 

(c)  Letters  from  my  Mother,   1873-1875         .          .          .  .  .132 

(d)  Letters  from  Alexander  Ewing,  Esq.,  1876-1877        ,.  .  .      137 


PART  II.     GERMANY    AND    TWO    WINTERS 
IN    ITALY 

CHAPTER  XIV  (SUMMER  1877) 

Germany  in  1877.  Arrival  at  Leipzig.  Description  of  the  Town. 
My  landlady,  Frau  Professor  Heimbach.  My  fellow  lodger. 
Strange  Croquet.  A  Fortnight  in  Thuringia.  George  Hens- 
chel  and  Others.  Musical  Encouragement.  Part-Singing  in 
the  Woods  .  V  .  .  *  .  .  .  ''  .  i  151 

CHAPTER  XV  (AUTUMN  1877) 

Old  Leipzig.  I  go  disguised  to  a  Concert.  The  Rontgen  Family. 
A  Blend  of  Art  and  Courtship  ;  Anecdote  about  Kreisler,  as 
Contrast  .  .  '  ,«  .  .  ,,  ,. '«.  , .'..'$  .  .*..  .  .  158 

CHAPTER  XVI  (WINTER  1877-1878) 

The  Conservatorium.  My  Masters.  The  Gewandhaus  Concerts. 
The  old  Concert  Hall.  Acoustics.  Chamber  Music.  B.  turns 
over  for  Frau  Schumann.  The  Libel  Suit  and  an  Admirer's 
Chivalry.  His  subsequent  Career  ....  164 

CHAPTER  XVII  (WINTER  1877-1878) 

The  Brockhaus  Family.  New  Year's  Eve  at  the  Rontgens.  The 
Drama.  The  Geistinger  Episode.  The  Tauchnitz  Family. 
End  of  the  Geistinger  Episode  .  .  .  .  .  .  172 

CHAPTER  XVIII  (EARLY  IN  1878) 

Brahms  conducts  his  D  Major  Symphony.  My  Introduction  to 
him  ;  his  Irony.  A  Critic's  Remark  on  the  Symphony.  1  hear 
about  the  Herzogenbergs.  I  move  to  Salomonstrasse  19. 
Life  there  described.  I  plunge  into  the  World  .  .  .179 


x  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  XIX  (EARLY  IN  1878) 

PAGE 

Leipzig  Society;  the  Gewandhaus  Gesellschaft,  the  Professorial 
Set,  and  the  Artist  World.  Particularism.  Dialect.  Frau 
Livia  Frege.  Frau  Lili  Wach  (Daughter  of  Mendelssohn)  and 
her  Husband.  Orthodox  Piety  in  Germany  .  '  .  .  .184 

CHAPTER  XX  (EARLY  IN  1878) 

Elisabeth  von  Herzogenberg  ('  Lisl ')  ;  her  Beauty  ;  her  Talents  ; 
her  musical  Genius  ;  other  Characteristics.  Her  Husband  and 
his  Compositions.  The  Limburger  Family.  Two  Leipzig 
Characters,  Frau  von  B  and  Frau  Dr.  E.  Anecdotes  about 
the  Latter  .  • .'  .  192 

CHAPTER  XXI  (SPRING  1878) 

Herzogenberg  becomes  my  Master.  I  join  the  Bach  Verein.  An 
anti-English  Stationer.  I  stay  at  '  the  Berg  '  with  Frau  Doctor 
Brockhaus.  I  fall  ill  and  am  nursed  by  Lisl.  Beginning  of  our 
Friendship.  A  Glance  into  the  Future .  .  .  .  .201 

APPENDIX  II 

(a)  Letters  from  myself  to  my  Mother  and  other  Members  of  the 

Family  1877-1878          .    "     .          .          .          .          .          .          .     207 

(b)  Letters   from    Elisabeth   von  Herzogenberg    (Lisl),    May   27   to 

June  9,  1878         .........     244 


CHAPTER  XXII  (SUMMER  1878) 

Return  to  England.  All  Exertion  forbidden.  A  sentimental  After- 
math. I  work  badly.  We  perform  the  '  Liebeslieder-Walzer.' 
Home  Finances.  Return  to  Leipzig  vid  Holland  .  \  •  .  250 


CHAPTER  XXIII  (AUTUMN  AND  WINTER  1878) 

Visit  to  Utrecht ;  Music  there.  The  Zuyder  Zee.  Arrival  at 
Leipzig.  My  '  Variations '  approved.  The  Merseburger 
Household  (Salomonstrasse  19).  I  become  '  the  Child  '  at 
the  Herzogenbergs.  Lisl's  Character  and  Charm.  Frau 
Schumann's  Jubilee  and  a  fantastic  Hunt  (see  footnote,  p.  260)  255 

CHAPTER  XXIV  (BRAHMS) 

Brahms  conducts  his  Violin  Concerto  ;  his  Personality  ;  his  Common 
Sense  in  the  Lenbach  Dispute  ;  his  Views  on  Women  ;  his 
Worship  of  Lisl ;  Herzogenberg's  Music  bores  him  ;  his  Relations 
with  Frau  Schumann  ;  his  Manners  with  Women  ;  his  Horror 
of  being  lionized  ;  his  Taste  in  Jokes  ;  his  Views  on  Wagner. 
Brahms  at  the  Piano  ;  his  Modesty  ;  his  Kindness  to  me, 
Contempt  for  Women  Composers  notwithstanding.  Anecdote 
about  Levi.  My  Brahms-Poem  and  its  Results.  He  sends 
a  Wreath  to  Wagner's  Funeral.  His  Illness  and  Death  .  261 


CONTENTS  xi 

CHAPTER  XXV  (SPRING  1879) 

PAGE 

Greig.  The  Wachs  and  Herzogenbergs  become  Friends.  Routs. 
The  Opera.  Defects  and  Advantages  of  my  Training.  Rural 
Expeditions  of  the  Bach  Verein.  A  Passion  Performance  in 
the  Thomas  Kirche.  Lisl's  Parents  appear  ;  they  both  hate  me, 
especially  her  Mother,  Frau  von  Stockhausen  .  .  .271 


CHAPTER  XXVI  (SUMMER  1879  TO  SUMMER  1880) 

A  vague  Marriage  Scheme.  Pan-Germanism.  Speeches  and  a 
Disaster.  Leipzig  Fairs.  Christmas  at  Berlin  with  the  Fiedlers. 
Their  Personalities.  A  New  Year's  Festivity  at  the  Joachims. 
Rubinstein  and  the  Young  Lady.  Spitta.  Chrysander  on 
Old  English  Music.  Fiedler's  Collection  of  Pictures.  First 
Impressions  of  Manet's  Art.  A  Victim  of  the  Kaiser.  Two 
English  Friends  (one  '  musical ')  come  to  Leipzig.  A  String 
Quartett  of  mine  is  played  at  the  Wachs.  Crostewitz  and  its 
Inhabitants.  A  Cropper  on  the  Race  Course.  '  Miss  Hop- 
in-die  Welt/  I  go  home  vid  Hamburg  and  Ragatz.  Financial 
Crisis  at  Home 278 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

OF 

THE    FIRST    VOLUME 

THE  AUTHOR  AS  CHILD        .....        Frontispiece 

MAJOR-GENERAL  J.  H.  SMYTH,  C.B.  (THE  AUTHOR'S 

FATHER)        .......     Facing  p.   35 

MRS.  J.  H.  SMYTH  (THE  AUTHOR'S  MOTHER)  .  „          44 

A  DRIVE  IN  THE  DONKEY  CART;  SKETCH  BY  THE 

REV.  HUGO  J.     ......  ,,72 

THE  Six  Miss  SMYTHS  AND  '  BANCO  '  .  ,,79 

JULIANA  HORATIA  EWING  ('AUNT  JUDY')     .  .  „       in 

LILI  WACH  (nee  MENDELSSOHN  BARTHOLDY)  .  „        190 

ELISABETH  VON  HERZOGENBERG    («  LISL  ')     .  .  „        206 


MUSICAL  QUOTATIONS  IN  THE  FIRST  VOLUME 


'  THE  DIVER  f     ,         .         ... 
'  MR.  AND  MRS.  SMITH  '       , 
A  BIRD-CALL  HEARD  BY  THE  AUTHOR 
FRAULEIN  REDEKER'S  COMPASS    . 


PAGE 

75 

81 

205 

214 


xui 


PART  I 
THE  SMYTH  FAMILY  ROBINSON 


INTRODUCTION 

ONCE,  in  a  roomfull  of  people,  someone  suddenly  said : 
'  I  wonder  what  becomes  of  all  the  delightful  and  interesting 
children  one  has  known  ?  '  Startled  by  this  remark  we 
began  discussing  it,  and  came  to  the  conclusion  that  nearly 
all  children  are  interesting  and  delightful,  just  as  every 
coin  fresh  from  the  Mint  has  a  certain  charm — but 
unfortunately  as  time  goes  on  the  original  design  loses 
its  sharpness.  Then  someone  else  went  on  to  say  that 
if  faithfully  written,  the  memoirs  of  any  child  would  be 
good  reading.  It  was  in  this  spirit  that  to  wile  away  a 
winter  of  forced  inactivity  I  began  to  write  mine,  having 
no  readers  in  view  at  the  moment  but  one  or  two  amiably 
inquisitive  friends. 

Early  memoirs  are  necessarily  egoistic,  for  a  child's 
recollections  are  strung  together  on  the  thread  of  its  own 
little  personality.  Nor,  among  such  petty  joys  and  sorrows, 
triumphs  and  humiliations,  can  much  picking  and  choosing 
be  done.  What  you  remember  was  evidently  important 
in  your  own  eyes  and  there  is  no  other  guide  to  follow. 
If  anyone  should  deem  the  result  in  this  case  of  general 
interest,  it  will  be  because,  like  the  immortal  '  Diary  of 
a  Nobody/  the  daily  life  described  in  the  first  part  of 
these  chronicles  might  be  that  of  any  English  family  in 
analogous  circumstances,  and  my  own  confessions  the 
autobiography  of  any  child. 

Once  girlhood  is  past,  the  story  perforce  becomes  less 
impersonal.  But  even  here,  seeing  that  the  record  ends 
when  it  became  the  question  of  a  public  musical  career, 
maybe  that  others  who  have  felt  the  pull  of  what  lies  to 

VOL,  I,  B 


2  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED 

right  and  left  of  the  road  you  are  trying  to  follow  will 
find  in  my  later  adventures  something  akin  to  their  own. 
Anyhow  it  is  in  that  hope  and  belief  that  I  have  recounted 
them. 

One  word  more.  Contemporary  correspondence  is  often 
the  most  interesting  part  of  a  book  such  as  this,  yet  to  use 
it  freely  in  the  text  breaks  up  the  narrative.  For  this 
reason  I  have  interpolated  six  appendix-sections,  contain- 
ing letters  from  or  about  persons  concerned  in  the  story. 
And  it  is  certain  that  the  large  class  of  readers  who  are 
bored  by  other  people's  letters  will  welcome  a  method  that 
simplifies  wholesale  skipping. 


CHAPTER  I 

...    TO    1867 

THE  title  of  this  section  of  my  Memoirs  is  a  nickname 
given  by  one  of  my  five  brothers-in-law  to  the  family  he 
allied  himself  with.  Uncle  Charles  Scott  expressed  the 
same  idea  in  other  words  when  he  declared  the  Irish  strain 
in  our  blood  was  predominant ;  but  we  were  only  Irish  of 
the  Pale  and  our  branch  had  been  back  in  England  for 
three  generations.  Originally  of  Heath  Hall,  Yorkshire, 
where  the  parent  stock  still  survives,  we  went  to  Ireland 
in  1625,  and  did  so  well  there  as  to  absorb  large  parts  of 
Meath,  Westmeath,  and  Queen's  County,  habitually  filling 
most  of  the  Bishoprics  with  ourselves  and  our  relations. 

At  one  time  I  was  delighted  to  believe,  as  my  father 
who  was  vague  on  such  matters  told  us  was  the  case,  that 
our  direct  ancestor  was  a  certain  Edward  Smyth,  Bishop 
of  Down  and  Connor,  who,  in  his  sub-character  of  chaplain 
to  William  of  Orange,  drafted  the  laws  concerning  Irish 
Catholics.  Later,  being  seized  with  a  passion  for  genealogy, 
and  incidentally  becoming  acquainted  with  the  nature 
of  those  laws,  I  was  glad  to  find  that  instead  of  deriving 
from  the  person  responsible,  I  should  say,  for  half  the 
religious  troubles  that  have  since  convulsed  Ireland,  our 
progenitor  was  his  younger  brother,  of  whom  nothing  was 
to  be  learned  except  that  his  name  was  John.  In  straight 
line  from  this  obscure  Smyth,  travelling  always  via  younger 
sons,  we  arrive  at  my  great-grandfather,  who  having  been 
destined  for  the  army  had  the  sense  to  emigrate  to  Liver- 
pool and  try  his  hand  at  banking.  Reversing  this  idea  my 
grandfather,  again  younger  son  of  a  younger  son,  began 

3 


4  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED 

life  in  the  Light  Cavalry,  fought  in  the  Peninsular  War, 
and  ended  by  carrying  on  the  bank  in  Macclesfield. 

The  only  touch  of  drama — mild  drama — that  enlivens 
the  family  history  is,  that  during  the  invasion  by  Prince 
Charlie,  my  great-grandparents  pursued  what  seems  to 
have  been  the  usual  course  in  those  days  under  such  circum- 
stances, and  retired  with  the  rest  of  the  country  families 
to  a  spot  unlikely  to  be  visited  by  the  soldiery,  the  Peak 
of  Derby.  Meanwhile  their  home,  '  The  Fence/  was 
occupied  by  Charles  Edward  and  his  suite,  who  left  behind 
them  some  curious  glass  hunting  goblets,  one  beautifully 
engraven  with  the  Prince's  portrait,  the  Order  of  the  Holy 
Ghost  and  the  queue  being  executed  with  special  care. 
My  father  maintained  it  was  very  wrong  to  call  a  lawful 
heir  '  the  Pretender ' ;  none  the  less  he  always  styled  this 
relic  '  the  Pretender's  glasses '  as  did  his  father  and  grand- 
father before  him. 

In  the  course  of  my  genealogical  investigations,  the 
gratifying  fact  was  established  that  our  line  of  Smyths 
were  admirable  God-fearing  people,  for  the  most  part  with 
pronounced  literary  tastes ;  but  among  them  all  there  is 
not  one  single  outstanding  personality,  except  perhaps  my 
bachelor  great-uncle  William  Smyth,  Master  of  Peter- 
house  College,  Cambridge. 

When  but  an  undergraduate  his  father's  bank  failed  (as 
did  many  banks  during  the  wars  with  France)  and  finding 
himself  bereft  of  everything  save  an  '  elegant  scholarship/ 
which  someone  brought  to  the  notice  of  Richard  Brinsley 
Sheridan,  he  became  tutor  to  young  Tom  Sheridan. 

A  memoir  of  his  patron,  printed  privately  in  later  years, 
is  written  with  a  discretion  which,  though  one  admires, 
one  cannot  help  regretting,  for  life  at  Isleworth  must 
have  been  a  fantastic  experience.  To  get  a  sight  of  the 
master  of  the  house  was  evidently  next  door  to  impossible, 
so  incalculable  were  his  movements,  so  irregular  his  hours  ; 
and  during  his  prolonged  absences  from  home  in  vain  would 
the  tutor  write,  suggesting  change  of  air,  or  change  of 
curriculum  for  the  pupil — in  vain  demand  funds  to  run  the 
household,  incidentally  mentioning  his  own  salary,  for 
Sheridan  had  acquired  the  dun-haunted  man's  habit  of 


THE  SMYTH  FAMILY  ROBINSON  5 

never  opening  letters.  Nor  was  it  possible  to  follow  him 
to  London  and  force  an  interview,  for,  living  in  perpetual 
terror  lest  some  misfortune  should  befall  his  idolised  and 
totally  neglected  boy  (who  was  not  even  allowed  to  skate 
for  fear  of  drowning)  the  orders  were,  that  under  no  circum- 
stances whatever  was  the  tutor  to  leave  his  charge  for  a 
moment.  Thus  the  two  unfortunates  would  find  them- 
selves stranded  in  some  sea-side  lodging-house  long  after 
everyone  else  had  left  the  place — penniless,  living  on  the 
precarious  credit  of  the  great  man's  name,  yet  not  daring 
to  go  home  without  permission.  In  fact  this  little  record 
of  an  inmate's  experience  in  that  household  is  just  what 
you  would  expect ;  yet  the  main  note  is  admiration  for 
the  fallen  genius,  who  had  captured  my  great-uncle's 
imagination  when  an  Eton  boy,  mingled  with  distress 
at  the  ravages  of  his  vices  and  weaknesses.  One  gathers 
there  were  occasional  scenes  between  the  two  men,  but 
never  once,  drunk  or  sober,  did  Sheridan  fail  to  treat  his 
subordinate  as  a  gentleman  and  an  equal ;  in  fact  nothing 
stands  out  more  strongly  in  these  hyper-delicate  pages 
than  the  loveableness  of  their  subject. 

'  The  Professor/  as  he  was  called  in  the  family,  also 
published  a  book  of  '  Lectures  on  the  French  Revolution ' 
which  I  have  never  read,  and  a  volume  of  '  English  Lyrics  ' 
in  mild  amatory  vein.  Everyone  in  those  days  wrote 
verses,  otherwise  it  is  inexplicable  that  an  intelligent  man 
should  have  printed  such  rubbish — and  intelligent  he  really 
was.  In  an  autobiographical  note,  far  the  most  interesting 
though  not  the  funniest  part  of  the  '  English  Lyrics/  he 
remarks  that  his  father  could  repeat  by  heart  almost 
any  passage  you  chose  to  call  for  in  *  classics  such  as  Swift, 
Churchill,  Dry  den,  and  Shakespere/  and  that  on  one 
occasion,  after  reading  Thompson's  *  Palemon  and  Lavinia  ' 
only  once  through,  he  repeated  it  without  a  mistake. 

My  father  used  to  tell  an  odd  little  story  about  his 
uncle  and  Jane  Austen,  who  were  close  friends.  It  appears 
that  the  authoress,  wishing  to  get  at  his  real  opinion  of  one 
of  her  novels,  put  on  a  friend  to  pump  him,  concealing  her- 
self meanwhile  behind  a  curtain.  The  verdict  was  luckily 
all  that  could  be  desired ,  till  the  Professor  remarked  he 


6  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED 

was  not  satisfied  as  to  her  orthodoxy,  having  detected 
certain  Unitarian  leanings  in  her  later  works  ;  upon  which 
Jane  Austen  burst  forth  from  her  hiding  place,  indignantly 
crying  :  '  That's  not  true  !  '  One  may  question  whether 
any  degree  of  intimacy  justifies  such, a  stratagem,  but  no 
doubt  she  knew  her  man  ;  anyhow  this  curious  sidelight 
on  an  elusive  personality  almost  condones  the  '  English 
Lyrics.' 

In  another  great  friend  of  his,  Amelia  Opie,  wife  of 
the  painter — a  literary  celebrity  in  the  style  of  her  con- 
temporaries Mrs.  Radcliffe  and  Mrs.  Barbauld — I  always 
took  interest,  because,  after  being  for  forty  years  the  most 
inveterate  woman  of  the  world,  she  suddenly  joined  the 
Society  of  Friends  and  devoted  herself  to  philanthropy 
mitigated  with  travel.  It  appeared  that  her  adoring  but 
home-loving  husband  persuaded  her  to  try  authorship 
in  order  to  wean  her  from  society ;  the  result  was  that 
she  at  once  became  famous  and  went  out  more  than  ever. 

The  Professor  was  our  high-water  mark  in  the  way  of 
distinction,  and  I  have  sometimes  said  to  myself  that 
though  it  must  be  pleasant  to  have  brilliant  ancestors, 
the  possible  legacy  of  an  exhausted  nervous  system  is 
perhaps  not  worth  the  glory  of  a  flaming  pedigree.  In 
fact  it  is  mainly  to  the  consistent  level  of  decent  mediocrity 
in  our  own  that  I  attribute  the  extraordinary  health  and 
high  spirits  of  the  branch  I  am  concerned  with  in  these 
pages. 

r-         '"'•*  •  •  *  • 

One  day  during  the  lifetime  of  my  brother  Johnny, 
who  had  a  turn  for  mathematics,  and  whose  memory  was 
accurate,  we  children  started  trying  to  fix  the  date  of  our 
earliest  recollections,  but  it  was  found  impossible  to  decide 
exactly  when  the  first  event  I  recall  took  place ;  namely 
an  attempt  to  jump  out  of  the  low  pony-carriage  as  it  was 
crawling  up  St.  Mary  Cray's  hill,  which  ended  in  my  falling 
on  my  back  in  the  road,  having  failed  to  observe  that 
Johnny  and  the  groom  always  jumped  in  the  direction  the 
carriage  was  moving  in.  Thus  my  conscious  life  began 
with  the  first  of  a  long  series  of  croppers — not  a  bad 
beginning.  *, 


THE  SMYTH  FAMILY  ROBINSON  7 

We  lived  in  those  days  at  Sidcup,  then  quite  a  country 
place,  selected  by  my  father  as  not  too  far  from  Woolwich, 
where,  on  his  return  to  England  after  the  Indian  Mutiny, 
he  took  up  the  command  of  the  Artillery  Depot.  The 
Indian  forces  to  which  he  belonged  were  then  in  course 
of  fusion  with  the  regular  army,  and  being  very  popular, 
and  having  served  with  distinction,  he  was  considered 
the  right  man  for  a  task  requiring  both  tact  and  common 
sense.  I  can  see  him  now,  starting  for  the  daily  ride  to 
his  office  mounted  on  his  i8-hand  charger  Paddy,  who 
later  filled  the  parts  of  hunter,  brougham  horse,  and  coal- 
cart  horse  with  good  humour  and  propriety.  I  have  even 
ridden  him  myself,  and  an  old  friend  once  told  us  his  first 
sight  of  me  was  wrong  end  upwards,  suspended  by  the 
foot  on  Paddy's  off  side  with  my  long  hair  sweeping  the 
grass,  the  saddle  having  slipped  round  in  Bramshill  Park. 
As  a  tiny  child  I  firmly  believed  the  horse-radish  served  with 
the  Sunday  joint  was  plucked  from  the  white  saddle- 
marks  on  Paddy's  high  withers,  and  for  this  reason  had 
an  aversion  to  horse-radish  sauce  years  after  I  knew  the 
truth  about  it. 

At  the  time  of  that  leap  from  the  pony  carriage  the 
Sidcup  household  consisted  of  my  paternal  grandparents, 
who  came  to  live  with  us  after  the  Mutiny,  my  parents, 
and  five  children — four  girls  and  a  boy.  As  time  went  on 
two  more  girls  arrived  on  the  scene,  Bob  my  youngest 
brother  being  born  the  year  after  we  left  Sidcup  ;  in  fact 
we  eventually  blossomed  into  one  of  the  large  families 
that  in  those  days  were  rather  the  rule  than  the  exception. 

Looking  at  the  portrait  of  what  our  friend  George 
Henschel  called  my  grandfather's  '  dear  old  port-wine 
face/  one  remembers  the  legend  that  his  last  action  before 
he  died  was  to  stroke  his  stomach  and  remark  with  a 
chuckle  :  '  To  think  of  the  hogsheads  of  port  I  have  con- 
soomed  in  my  time  !  '  He  might  well  say  so,  for  he  lived 
to  be  ninety-six — a  splendid,  intensely  alive  old  man 
whom  I  should  have  worshipped  in  later  years,  whereas 
then,  alas  !  I  only  felt  a  child's  repulsion  to  extreme  old 
age.  He  always  wore  a  black  velvet  skull-cap  which  was 
associated  in  my  mind  with  wizards,  and  I  disliked  having 


8  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED 

to  kiss  his  scrubby  apple-red  old  cheek,  wondering  un- 
easily why  there  was  always  white  powder  on  the  lapels 
of  his  coat.  Again  I  detested  a  favourite  joke  of  his,  which 
was  to  say  very  slowly,  when  a  certain  dreaded  hour  struck  : 
'  Shadrach  .  .  .  Meschach  .  .  .  and  .  .  .To  BED  WE  GO  ! ' — 
the  last  words  with  a  sudden  roar.  But  what  chiefly 
roused  my  disapproval  was  his  comment  when  Johnny, 
who  had  put  something  very  hot  into  his  mouth,  instantly 
spat  it  out ;  '  Well  done,  my  boy/  cried  grandpapa,  '  a 
fool  would  have  swallowed  it !  '  Being  imbued  with 
nursery  notions  of  pretty  behaviour  I  was  shocked  at  the 
coarseness  of  the  males  of  the  family. 

The  other  day,  examining  old  papers  of  his,  I  came 
across  some  cuttings  from  the  Manchester  Courier  which 
throw,  I  think,  a  picturesque  light  on  the  past.  After 
leaving  the  army  he  had  been  given  command  of  the 
Macclesfield  Squadron  of  the  Cheshire  Yeomanry,  a  force 
much  in  request  during  the  frequent  riots,  and  with  two 
of  these  incidents  the  extracts  are  concerned.  Here  is 
the  first. 

1  Our  squadron  of  yeomanry  reached  home  on  Thursday 
and  formed  in  the  Market  Place  where  they  were  addressed 
by  Captain  Smyth ;  we  give  the  speech  as  nearly  as  we 
could  collect  it. 

"  Gentlemen — It  is  with  the  most  heartfelt  satisfaction 

that  I  address  you  on  your  return  from  performing  as  good 

and  loyal  subjects  your  duty  to  your  King  and  country. 

Gentlemen,  I  am  desired  by  my  brother  officers  to  convey 

to  you  their  best  thanks  for  the  alacrity  with  which  you 

mustered,  and  for  your  soldier-like  conduct  on  this,  as  on 

all  former  occasions,  when  your  country's  weal  has  required 

your  protection.     With  their  thanks  I  beg  you  will  accept 

my   own.     But,   gentlemen,    I   am   instructed   to   convey 

thanks  to  you  from  a  much  higher  authority,  from  that 

distinguished  officer,   Major  Gen.   Sir  James  Lyon,   with 

whom  I  have  had  the  honour  of  an  interview,  and  who  has 

personally  expressed  to  me  the  high  estimation  in  which 

he    holds    your    valuable    services.     The    General    deeply 

regrets  the  necessity  for  calling  you  out  at  this  inclement 


THE  SMYTH  FAMILY  ROBINSON      9 

season  of  the  year ;  but  the  readiness  with  which  you 
obeyed  the  call  tends  only  to  prove,  that  neither  the 
scorching  sun  of  autumn,  nor  the  chilling  blasts  of  winter, 
can  abate  the  ardour  that  glows  in  your  manly  bosoms. 
The  General  further  informed  me  that  the  call  for  your 
services  was  not  only  necessary,  but  most  urgent,  for  that 
intelligence  of  a  most  alarming  nature  had  been  received 
on  oath  from  various  quarters,  and  from  sources  the  most 
respectable,  all  agreeing  that  a  simultaneous  rising  was 
intended  to  take  place  on  Sunday  last  from  Glasgow  to 
Stockport,  and  in  Nottingham.  Proud  am  I  to  say,  that 
our  town  was  not  in  the  list  of  those  enumerated.  No, 
gentlemen,  our  town  is  a  loyal  town,  and  I  trust  it  will 
never  lose  its  fair  fame  by  the  base  conduct  of  the  few  radical 
wretches  whose  dwelling  is  amongst  us.  Gentlemen,  when 
I  last  had  the  pleasure  of  addressing  you,  I  told  you  those 
radical  reformers  never  durst,  nor  ever  would,  stand  the 
charge  of  yeomanry,  and  I  still  feel  persuaded  they  never 
will.  Of  their  diabolical  intentions  there  can  be  no  doubt, 
and  they  would  ere  this  have  been  carried  into  execution, 
had  their  proceedings  not  been  closely  watched.  Gentle- 
men, I  again  thank  you  for  your  attention,  and  you  can 
now  return  to  your  homes  with  the  universal  satisfaction 
of  having  done  your  duty,  and  I  hope  you  will  be  allowed 
to  enjoy  the  festivities  of  the  approaching  season  with  peace 
and  comfort.  And  ere  you  depart,  I  trust  our  worthy 
chaplain  who  is  on  my  left  will  give  you  his  blessing." 

The  next  extract  shows  that  my  grandfather  had 
underrated  the  power  of  the  '  radical  wretches '  to  stir 
up  strife. 

'  Prior  to  the  dismissal  of  the  squadron  of  horse  they 
were  addressed  in  an  animated  speech  by  one  of  their 
officers,  Capt.  Smyth,  a  gentleman  who  has  seen  much 
service  in  the  field,  and  had  a  command  at  the  storming 
of  Seringapatam.  His  observations,  as  nearly  as  we  could 
collect,  were  these — "  Your  conduct  has,  during  the  four 
days  and  nights  elapsed  in  this  service,  been  so  steady 
and  determined,  and  your  discipline  so  exemplary,  that 


io  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED 

henceforth  I  shall  have  the  same  confidence  in  you  as  I 
have  ever  had  in  the  regular  forces  of  the  crown.  To  your 
firm  and  cool  intrepidity  it  is  owing  that  we  return  from 
the  achievement  of  an  arduous  service  with  our  pistols 
yet  undischarged,  and  our  swords  unstained  with  our 
countrymen's  blood.  How  far  this  moderation  has  been 
met  with  a  corresponding  temper  by  the  deluded  foes  of 
England's  peace,  your  own  dwellings,  cowardly  assailed 
in  our  absence,  are  here  before  your  eyes  to  testify.  Happy 
for  Macclesfield  that  we  were  far  hence  while  the  wretched 
enterprise  was  in  progress !  Had  we  returned  in  the  night 
of  yesterday,  according  to  our  orders  first  received,  justice 
had  demanded  a  sacrifice  the  possibility  of  which  I  shudder 
to  contemplate. 

"  Farewell,  my  friends,  and  distant,  far  distant,  be  the 
day  which  shall  arm  us  against  the  hearts  of  our  fellow 
townsmen." 

I  cannot  quite  understand  why  the  counter-orders 
which  enabled  the  foes  of  England  to  escape  retribution 
should  be  a  subject  for  rejoicing  ;  perhaps  this  sentiment 
was  merely  a  rhetorical  flourish. 

My  grandmother  left  no  impression  on  my  mind ;  and 
as  my  father  and  mother  will  be  described  later,  I  will 
pass  on  to  my  own  generation,  beginning  with  the  eldest, 
Alice,  supposed  never  to  have  been  naughty  in  her  life, 
and  whose  goodness  one  governess  said  was  '  positively 
monotonous/  Of  this  specially  beloved  sister  I  chiefly 
remember  that  she  said  her  Catechism  in  what  we  used 
to  call  a  squeaky  voice — that  is  a  voice  to  which  she  has 
been  prone  all  her  life  when  reading  family  prayers.  I  also 
remember  that  she  once  said  to  me  :  '  You  have  a  very 
strong  will ;  why  not  will  to  be  good  ?  '  and  that  this  tribute 
to  my  strength  of  character  secretly  delighted  me.  Whether 
the  advice  was  followed  I  cannot  say,  but  to  harness  the 
pride  of  a  child  to  the  cart  is  a  good  receipt. 

Johnny,  the  next  of  the  family,  was  at  that  time  my 
model,  my  tastes  being  essentially  boyish — a  trait  he 
met  with  mingled  disapproval  and  patronage.  I  soon 


THE  SMYTH  FAMILY  ROBINSON  n 

noticed  that  I  climbed  higher  and  was  generally  more 
daring  than  he,  and  no  doubt  dwelt  on  the  fact,  which 
would  partly  account  for  a  certain  lack  of  sympathy  between 
us.  Being  himself  of  a  quiet  orderly  disposition,  perhaps 
too  he  disliked  the  violent  ways  that  made  my  mother  call 
me  '  the  stormy  petrel ';  anyhow  I  always  thought  he 
judged  me  severely. 

After  Johnny  came  Mary  ;  two  years  later  I  arrived — 
the  first  of  the  bunch  to  be  born  in  England,  all  the  rest 
being  little  Indians.  When  the  Mutiny  broke  out  our 
parents  were  at  home  on  leave,  having  brought  with  them 
Alice  and  Johnny,  who  were  getting  too  old  for  the  climate. 
As  often  happened  in  those  days  the  baby,  Mary,  had  been 
left  behind  in  charge  of  a  cousin,  the  idea  being  to  return 
to  her  in  a  few  months  ;  and  while  my  father  was  hurrying 
back  alone  to  India,  Mary  went  through  all  sorts  of  vicissi- 
tudes, was  carried  off  to  a  place  of  safety  by  her  ayah, 
hidden  behind  a  haystack,  and  so  on,  till  arrangements 
could  be  made  for  sending  her  home. 

My  father  left  England  on  June  30,  and  I  was  born  on 
the  23rd  day  of  the  following  April — a  ten  months'  child. 
In  pre-suffragette  days  I  was  proud  of  this  fact,  having 
heard  that  such  children  are  generally  boys  and  always 
remarkable  !  Since  then  I  have  ascertained  that  no  one 
but  the  most  benighted  old  Gamps  ever  held  such  a  theory, 
and  wonder  if  the  latter  part  of  it  was  an  invention  for 
soothing  paternal  doubts  and  suspicions. 

Mary  and  I  shared  a  bed,  an  uncomfortable  arrange- 
ment for  her,  as  I  was  afraid  of  the  dark  and  apt  to  awake 
in  the  night  demanding  comfort.  She  eventually  insisted 
on  a  bolster,  which  our  nurses  called  '  the  old  man/  being 
put  between  us  under  the  bottom  sheet,  but  promised  to 
hold  my  hand  on  Monday  nights  till  I  fell  asleep,  and  I 
spent  the  whole  week  looking  forward  to  Monday.  I  was 
also  terrified  of  churchyards,  and  as  the  Church  was  close 
by,  used  to  slip  out  after  dark  and  force  myself  to  walk 
a  given  distance,  say  twenty  steps,  along  the  path  between 
the  tombstones,  rushing  home  in  agony  after  the  ordeal 
was  over. 

There  were  four  years  between  me  and  the  next  child 


12  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED 

Nina,  a  gap  accounted  for,  as  I  used  innocently  to  explain 
to  enquirers,  by  my  father's  absence  in  India.  I  well 
remember  the  change  when  I  ceased  being  the  spoiled 
baby ;  details  escape  me  but  not  the  ache  and  fury  of  it. 
The  births  of  the  other  two  Sidcup  children,  Violet  and 
Nelly,  evidently  took  place,  but  I  remember  nothing  about 
these  events  ;  indeed  my  early  recollections,  when  not 
concerning  myself  only,  are  chiefly  connected  with  Johnny 
and  Mary. 

When  my  grandfather  died  (1864)  grandmama  went 
to  live  with  one  of  my  aunts,  and  my  parents  moved  into 
the  best  bedroom. 


CHAPTER  II 

...    TO   1867 

OF  my  own  generation,  all  of  whom  except  Johnny  are 
alive  at  the  present  day,  I  shall  speak  as  seen  through  my 
childish  eyes ;  of  my  parents,  who  are  both  dead,  I  shall 
try  presently  to  give  the  impression  their  personalities 
left  with  me  in  later  years.  But  first  let  me  describe  our 
home. 

Sidcup  Place,  in  the  parish  of  Footscray,  Kent,  was 
originally  a  small,  square,  Queen  Anne  house,  separated 
from  the  main  road  by  a  high  wall  covered  with  ivy,  between 
the  two  a  strip  of  garden.  A  wing  had  been  added  later, 
along  the  first  story  of  which,  facing  the  real  garden  which 
was  at  the  back,  ran  what  seemed  to  me  then  an  endless 
gallery,  the  most  ideal  of  places  for  children  to  rush  up 
and  down  and  yell  in.  Connected  in  my  mind  with  this 
gallery  is  one  of  those  mysterious  incidents  that  are  never 
really  cleared  up,  and  which  I  for  one  believed  was  a  case 
of  crime  too  heinous  to  be  explained  to  good  children. 
A  cousin  of  ours,  Alfred  S.,  had  apparently  shut  the  cat 
up  in  a  small  cupboard  which  stood  in  a  certain  place  at 
the  end  of  the  gallery — a  place  in  which  an  imprisoned  cat 
should  have  had  every  chance  of  advertising  her  presence. 
But  she  made  no  sound  ;  perhaps  she  was  a  delicate  minded 
cat.  Whether  she  actually  died  of  starvation,  or  was 
discovered  in  the  nick  of  time,  I  forget,  but  from  that 
moment  Alfred  became  a  sinister  figure  in  our  collection 
of  cousins,  and  when  he  died  a  few  years  later  I  always 
believed  the  cat  had  something  to  do  with  it. 

There  were  roomy  stables  and  a  big  old-fashioned  granary 

13 


i4  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED 

mounted  on  stone  pillars,  yet  none  the  less  infested,  so 
they  told  us,  by  rats — a  useful  legend.  The  grounds  were 
charming ;  on  one  side  of  the  croquet  lawn  was  the  most 
enormous  acacia  I  have  ever  seen,  the  bloom  of  which 
never  failed,  and  on  the  other  a  fine  cedar.  Beyond  was 
a  walled  kitchen  garden  with  flowery  borders  and  rose 
patches,  and  the  object  of  our  lives  was  to  mount  the 
walls,  unobserved,  from  the  far  side  in  quest  of  forbidden 
fruit.  Once  I  remember  the  gardener,  who  had  stealthily 
removed  the  ladder,  suddenly  appearing  with  a  long  switch  ; 
we  flew  along  the  top,  he  at  the  bottom  of  the  wall,  calling 
out  as  we  reached  the  spot  where  the  ladder  should  have 
been :  *  Now  I've  got  yer,  yer  little  warmints/  and  I  am 
glad  to  say  I  followed  Johnny's  lead  and  took  a  flying  leap 
down  into  safety,  a  drop  of  eight  or  nine  feet — not  a 
mean  performance  for  a  child  of  less  than  that  number  of 
years. 

Beyond  the  kitchen  garden  was  a  shrubbery  that 
seemed  to  me  then  what  the  woods  in  Rossetti's  sonnets 
seem  to  me  now, — a  vast  mysterious  place  full  of  glades 
and  birds,  wildflowers  and  bracken ;  beyond  that  again, 
not  on  our  property  I  think,  was  a  nut-wood  intersected 
by  green  paths  one  exactly  like  the  other,  in  which  I  never 
strayed  far  from  my  elders  for  fear  of  getting  lost.  I  was 
always  haunted  with  this  particular  terror,  and  once,  when 
separated  for  one  second  from  my  family  in  the  midst  of 
a  seething  fire-work  crush  at  the  Crystal  Palace,  started 
such  appalling  yells  of  '  I  shall  never  see  my  dear  Papa 
and  Mama  again ! '  that  the  crowd  instantly  divided  to 
enable  my  father's  hand  once  more  to  grasp  mine. 

Fringed  with  disreputable-looking  willows  was  a  duck 
pond,  on  which  we  used  to  put  forth  in  wine  boxes  and 
tubs  ;  and  hard  by  an  old  elm-tree,  in  which  Alice,  Johnny, 
and  a  friend  of  his  built  one  of  the  many  descendants  of 
the  Tree  House  in  the  '  Swiss  Family  Robinson/  It  had  a 
floor,  and  heaps  of  shelves  and  hooks,  and  we  were  allowed 
to  have  tea  up  there  when  we  had  been  very  good.  As 
milk  warm  from  the  cow  figured  among  our  treats  I  pre- 
tended to  love  it,  but  really  was  rather  nauseated,  and 
privately  thought  milking  an  improper  sight.  It  seemed 


THE  SMYTH  FAMILY  ROBINSON  15 

cruel,  too,  to  maul  the  poor  cows  like  that,  and  when  the 
gruff  cowman  said  they  liked  it,  he  was  not  believed. 

I  have  two  special  farmyard  recollections,  one  being 
the  occasion  on  which  young  Maunsell  B —  a  school  friend 
of  Johnny's  who  spent  most  of  his  holidays  with  us  and 
considered  himself  engaged  to  Mary — promised  me  sixpence 
if  I  would  ride  a  slim  black  pig  called  Fairylight  round 
the  yard.  For  some  reason  or  other  we  were  dressed  in 
clean,  open-work,  starched  frocks,  and  when,  after  being 
shot  off  on  to  the  manure  heap,  I  was  dragged  into  my 
father's  study  by  our  infuriated  nurse,  it  was  easy  to  see 
he  could  hardly  keep  his  countenance.  The  other  incident 
was  my  bribing  the  cowman  (again  with  sixpence)  to  let 
me  see  a  pig  killed — conduct  which  deeply  shocked  and 
horrified  Johnny  who  considered  such  sights  a  male  privilege. 
The  terrific  scolding  that  followed  was  unnecessary,  since 
for  months  afterwards  I  turned  green  whenever  I  heard  a 
pig  squealing.  At  last  even  the  nurse  pitied  me  and  would 
say  :  '  Bless  your  heart  he's  only  squealing  for  his  dinner/ 
which  I  hope  was  true.  Otherwise  I  am  quite  sure  I  was 
not  a  cruel  little  girl,  except  perhaps  later  on  in  the  donkey 
days,  when  dreadful  things  were  done  with  the  butt  end 
of  a  whip ;  but  anyone  who  has  had  to  do  with  donkeys 
will  make  allowances. 

Among  other  memories  such  as  these,  to  which  one  can 
put  no  exact  date,  certain  only  that  they  root  in  the  earliest 
days  of  one's  childhood,  is  the  great  occasion  when  the 
house  caught  fire.  A  modest  blaze,  caused  by  the  light- 
hearted  way  builders  used  to  work  beams  into  kitchen 
chimneys,  it  was  soon  got  under ;  but  I  remember  the  in- 
creasing smell  of  charred  wood,  and  the  wild  excitement 
when  the  floor  of  our  big  cupboard  was  found  to  be  smoulder- 
ing, the  nursery  being  above  the  kitchen.  For  days 
carpenters  were  in  the  house  putting  down  new  boards, 
and  when  the  nurse's  foot  went  through  the  ceiling  below, 
the  cook,  whose  imagination  no  doubt  was  running  on 
workmen's  tools,  declared  she  had  taken  it  for  '  a  great  big 
'ammer.'  Whereupon  everyone  in  the  house  began  staring 
at  nurse's  feet,  and  there  were  allusions  to '  the  blacks/  whose 
legs  are  notoriously  planted  half  way  between  heel  and  toe. 


16  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED 

Another  vivid  recollection  is  Danson  Park,  inhabited 
by  a  cross,  gruff-voiced  old  uncle,  husband  of  Papa's  eldest 
sister,  who  did  not  like  children.  As  usual  in  those  days 
there  were  a  bakehouse  and  dairies,  and  we  were  allowed 
to  skim  a  cup-full  of  cream  from  any  bowl  we  liked.  But 
the  bakehouse  was  the  great  attraction,  for  there  we  used 
to  knead  little  dough  mice,  with  currants  for  eyes,  poking 
them  ourselves  into  the  oven  to  take  home  by  and  by.  I 
remember  that  as  a  rule  they  were  either  stodgy  and  grey, 
or  very  white  and  requiring  to  be  broken  up  with  chisel  and 
hammer.  There  seemed  to  be  no  medium.  But  among 
the  many  pleasanter  greedy  memories  I  have  stored  up  in 
my  life,  and  hope  yet  to  store,  is  the  exquisite  flavour  of 
some  muddy  perch  which  were  caught  by  us  one  afternoon 
in  a  stream  that  ran  through  beautiful  Footscray  Place, 
and  cooked  for  supper  as  a  very  special  treat. 

Another  incident  stands  out  among  all  the  rest,  uncanny, 
inexplicable,  appealing  to  the  agitated  imaginativeness 
nearly  all  children  possess,  though  what  becomes  of  it 
later  on  one  cannot  think ; — an  emotion  no  one  handles 
more  supremely  than  German  writers  such  as  Hoffmann 
and  his  contemporaries.  Again  the  scene  is  at  Footscray 
Place,  in  front  of  a  great  jar  full  of  what  I  now  fancy  must 
have  been  ears  of  bearded  Egyptian  wheat,  and  which  we 
were  told  came  out  of  a  mummy's  coffin.  But  according 
to  my  conviction  they  were  thousand-year-old  insects,  not 
really  dead  but  in  a  state  of  suspended  animation ;  for 
when  placed  in  a  soup-plate  with  a  little  water  at  the  bottom 
they  presently  began  to  swell,  stretch  out  their  legs,  and 
turn  slow  somersaults.  No  one  knows  what  nightmares 
followed  that  particular  treat. 

Finally  there  is  one  more  memory,  dateless,  but  im- 
perishable, because  I  was  never  allowed  to  hear  the  end  of 
it — an  occasion  on  which  all  unconsciously  a  life's  philosophy 
was  formulated.  Once  grandmama  helped  me  to  some 
pudding,  and  seeing  I  did  not  touch  it  exclaimed  :  '  Why, 
I  thought  that  was  your  favourite  pudding  ! '  My  answer 
was  :  '  Yes,  but  this  is  so  little  I  can't  eat  it.' 

I  think  on  the  whole  we  were  a  naughty  and  very 


THE  SMYTH  FAMILY  ROBINSON  17 

quarrelsome  crew.  My  father  once  wrote  and  pinned  on 
the  wall :  '  If  you  have  nothing  pleasant  to  say  hold  your 
tongue ' ;  an  adage  which,  though  excellent  as  receipt  for 
getting  on  in  society,  was  unpopular  in  a  nursery  such  as 
ours,  for  words  lead  to  blows  and  we  happened  to  love 
fighting.  There  was  one  terrific  battle  between  Mary  and 
myself  in  the  course  of  which  I  threw  a  knife  that  wounded 
her  chin,  to  which  she  responded  with  a  fork  that  hung  for 
a  moment  just  below  my  eye,  Johnny  having  in  the  mean- 
time crawled  under  the  table. 

Then  again  there  was  a  loft  in  which  queer  old  swords 
and  pistols  looted  by  my  father  in  his  Indian  campaigns 
were  stored  away,  together  with  hideous  discarded  family 
portraits,  to  stab  which  was  of  course  irresistible.  But  the 
strange  thing  is  that  we  often  fought  with  these  weapons 
among  ourselves,  not  infrequently  in  anger,  and  yet  did 
each  other  no  serious  damage.  It  was  in  the  loft  that  our 
first  smoking  essays  took  place.  Some  people  say  this  is  an 
acquired  taste  ;  if  so  someone  acquired  mine  for  me  before 
I  was  born,  for  we  often  smoked  bits  of  my  father's  broken 
canes,  as  well  as  tea  rolled  inside  brown  paper,  and  I  can 
truthfully  say  the  thing  came  as  naturally  to  me  as  eating 
pear-drops,  nor  was  I  ever  the  worse  for  it. 

Of  course  we  merited  and  came  in  for  a  good  deal  of 
punishment,  including  having  our  ears  boxed,  which  in 
those  days  was  not  considered  dangerous,  and  my  mother's 
dramatic  instinct  came  out  strongly  in  her  technique  as 
ear-boxer.  With  lips  tightly  shut  she  would  whip  out 
her  hand,  hold  it  close  to  one's  nose,  palm  upwards,  for 
quite  a  long  time,  as  much  as  to  say  :  '  Look  at  this  !  You'll 
feel  it  presently ' — and  then  .  .  .  smack  ! 

I  think  I  am  the  only  one  of  the  six  Miss  Smyths  who 
has  ever  been  really  thrashed  ;  the  crime  was  stealing  some 
barley  sugar,  and  though  caught  in  the  very  act,  per- 
sistently denying  the  theft.  Thereupon  my  father  beat 
me  with  one  of  grandmama's  wooden  knitting  needles,  a 
thing  about  2}  feet  long  with  a  knob  at  one  end.  He 
was  the  least  cruel  of  men,  and  opponents  of  corporal  punish- 
ment will  say  its  brutalising  effect  is  proved  by  the  fact 
that  when  I  howled  he  merely  said  :  '  The  more  noise  you 

VOL.  I.  C 


i8  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED 

make  the  harder  I'll  hit  you.'  Hit  hard  he  did,  for  a  fort- 
night later,  when  I  joined  Alice,  who  had  been  away  all 
this  time  at  an  aunt's,  she  noticed  strange  marks  on  my 
person  while  bathing  me,  and  was  informed  by  me  that  it 
came  from  sitting  on  my  crinoline. 

Even  in  after  years  my  mother  could  not  bear  to  think 
about  that  thrashing.  All  I  can  say  is  it  left  no  wound  in 
my  memory  as  did  snubs,  and  was  the  only  punishment 
that  ever  had  any  effect — for  I  dreaded  being  hurt.  In- 
deed to  run  the  risk  of  ordinary  pains  and  penalties,  and 
make  the  best  of  it  when  overtaken  by  them,  was  quite 
part  of  our  scheme,  and  I  am  glad  to  know  that  some  of 
our  happy  thoughts  when  under  punishment  extorted 
unwilling  admiration  even  from  our  chastisers. 

For  instance  one  day,  when  Mary  and  I  knew  that  in- 
carceration in  an  empty  room  at  the  top  of  the  house  would 
surely  be  our  lot,  we  seized  as  many  books  as  we  could  lay 
hold  of,  and  stuffed  them  into  our  drawers,  which  buttoned 
up  at  the  sides.  I  remember  the  agony  of  feeling  them 
slip  lower  and  lower  as  we  were  herded  upstairs,  and  how 
finally,  just  as  the  key  was  turned  on  us,  down  they  came 
in  an  avalanche.  On  another  occasion  we  were  locked  up 
in  Papa's  dressing-room  and  the  shutters  were  barred  ; 
but  there  was  light  enough  to  ransack  his  wardrobe  and 
construct,  with  the  aid  of  pillows  and  bolster,  a  complete 
effigy  of  him  lying  on  his  back  on  the  floor  in  full  hunting 
costume.  And  as  finishing  touch,  the  pincushion,  with 
an  inscription  pricked  out  in  pins,  '  For  dear  Papa,'  was 
laid  on  the  effigy's  breast.  If  that  didn't  melt  them  I  really 
don't  know  what  would,  but  as  a  matter  of  fact  an  in- 
discreet word  let  drop  now  and  again  by  visitors  made  us 
suspect  that  a  more  lenient  view  of  our  crimes  obtained 
than  might  have  been  supposed.  Anyhow  I  know  we  were 
considered  very  quaint  and  amusing  children,  and,  as 
happens  in  most  families,  were  alternately  encouraged  by 
guests  to  chatter,  and  snubbed  by  our  parents  for  being 
forward. 

The  two  great  indoor  occupations  were  boat-building 
and  a  game  called  '  grandeurs ' — really  dressing  up  and 
acting.  It  took  its  name  from  a  sack  thus  labelled,  in  which 


THE  SMYTH  FAMILY  ROBINSON  19 

were  stowed  away  remnants  of  my  mother's  old  ball  dresses, 
feathers,  the  huge  bunches  of  artificial  grapes  then  in 
fashion,  and  gold  braid  from  my  father's  uniforms — our 
theatrical  wardrobe  of  course.  The  word  '  grandeurs  '  had 
probably  been  used  in  fun  by  mother,  who  was  brought 
up  in  France,  but  we  pronounced  it  in  broad  English  '  grann- 
djers/  To  this  day  the  succession  of  small  cardboard 
boxes  in  which  are  packed  the  modest  store  of  ornaments 
I  take  about  with  me  are  inscribed  '  grandeurs/  and  the 
smart  housemaids  in  country  houses  who  lay  out  the  con- 
tents on  my  dressing-table  may  well  be  astonished  at  this 
designation. 

Like  all  children  we  of  course  '  acted '  our  parents' 
friends,  and  one  of  Johnny's  and  my  most  admired  pro- 
ductions was  a  visit  from  our  neighbours  the  Sydneys. 
Lord  Sydney,  then  Lord  Chamberlain,  was  the  most  pompous 
old  gentleman  I  have  ever  seen,  exactly  like  '  the  Earl ' 
in  melodrama,  with  his  curled  grey  whiskers  and  gold 
pince-nez.  He  had  a  way  of  holding  out  two  ringers  to 
Johnny  and  saying  '  how  do  boy '  which  was  done  justice 
to  by  his  personator.  Lady  Sydney  was  rather  a  dear, 
I  used  to  think,  and  by  crinkling  up  my  nose,  looking  down 
it,  and  complaining  of  the  east  wind,  I  was  considered  not 
only  to  resemble  her  as  much  as  a  child  of  seven  can 
resemble  a  woman  of  forty-five  or  fifty,  but  to  give  a 
satisfactory  rendering  of  what  we  were  told  was  '  the  Paget 
manner.'  I  particularly  remember  the  Sydneys,  of  course, 
because  they  were  our  local  grandees — also  because  their 
extreme  friendliness  to  my  parents  caused  some  heart- 
burning to  other  less  favoured  neighbours. 

When  engaged  in  boat  building,  a  type  of  conversation 
prevailed — result  of  absorption  in  our  job  combined  with 
habitual  garrulousness — which  we  ourselves  recognised 
as  idiotic  and  called  '  ship  conversations.'  This  was  the 
sort  of  thing  :  '  I  say  ! '— '  What  ?  '  (Pause.)  '  I  say  !  '— 
'  Well  ?  '  '  D'you  know  what  I'm  going  to  do  ?  I'm 
going  to  make  a  rudder.'  (Long  pause.)  '  What  for  ?  ' — 
'  D'you  mean  to  say  you  don't  know  what  a  rudder's  for ;?  ' 
— '  Of  course  I  know  what  a  rudder's  for.'  (Pause.) 
'  Wha-a-at  ?  '— '  Of  course  I  know  what  it's  for.'  (Long 


20  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED 

pause.)  '  Then  why  did  you  ask  ?  ' — '  Ask  what  ?  ' — '  Why 
I  was  going  to  make  one/ — '  I  didn't  ask  why  you  were/ — 
'  O  what  a  cracker  !  Mary,  didn't  she  ask  why  I  was  making 
a  rudder  ?  ' — and  so  on  by  the  hour.  Needless  to  say  our 
ships  were  raced  on  the  pond  and  always  turned  turtle. 

The  final  scene  in  each  day's  drama  was  going  down 
to  dessert  in  starched,  richly  beribboned  frocks,  our  hair 
well  crimped,  and  sometimes  as  a  great  treat  a  teaspoonful 
of  sherry  would  be  added  to  our  tumbler  of  water.  In  later 
years  Nina  was  once  heard  confiding  to  her  nurse  that  the 
one  wine  she  could  not  bear  was  sherry  and  water. 

It  will  surprise  no  one  to  learn  that  I  didn't  care  much 
for  dolls,  but  strange  to  say  Mary  was  in  the  same  case. 
Of  course  we  had  dolls,  but  they  spent  most  of  their  time 
in  strict  quarantine,  it  being  our  habit  to  inflict  on  them 
long  illnesses  supposed  to  be  infectious  and  yet  to  require 
no  nursing.  The  fact  that  they  bored  us  was  too  revolu- 
tionary to  be  faced,  so  we  had  to  find  some  plausible  reason 
for  ridding  ourselves  of  their  hated  company.  The  only 
difficulty  was  to  invent  enough  new  diseases.  Up  to  the 
time  I  am  thinking  of  the  family  had  been  immune  from 
measles,  but  not  so  the  dolls,  and  when,  at  our  wit's  end, 
we  decided  to  give  them  a  second  bout,  Johnny  objected 
that  no  one  ever  had  measles  twice — and  his  word  carried 
weight.  Shortly  afterwards  the  whole  household  was 
down  with  it,  including  my  mother  who  became  exceedingly 
ill,  but  I  remember  the  incident  mainly  because  of  my 
joy  that  for  once  the  great  Johnny  had  been  wrong,  my 
mother  having  had  measles  when  a  child. 

As  I  am  on  the  theme  of  epidemics,  which  of  us  can  ever 
forget  the  whooping-cough  visitation  ?  how  we  wandered 
about  whooping  for  weeks  and  weeks,  armed  with  dreadful 
little  jampots  that  were  hidden  under  sofas  when  visitors 
came,  and  inadvertently  kicked  over.  After  that,  the  one 
thing  Mary  drew  the  line  at  was  the  dolls  having  whooping- 
cough. 

She  was  far  the  more  ladylike  child  of  the  two.  Besides 
a  strong  regard  for  appearances  she  had  presence  of  mind 
of  the  sort  the  French  call  aplomb,  and  would  come  with 
flying  colours  out  of  situations  that,  to  use  an  admirable 


THE  SMYTH  FAMILY  ROBINSON  21 

slang  expression,  floored  me ;  in  fact  the  reproach  so 
often  levelled  in  the  nursery  of  making  a  spectacle  of 
oneself  could  seldom  be  addressed  to  her  with  justice.  But 
one  day  circumstances  were  too  strong  for  her.  Travelling 
backwards  in  a  shut  carriage  always  made  us  both  feel 
sick,  and  once  at  a  review  at  Woolwich,  when  we  were 
perched  on  the  top  of  the  brougham  to  get  a  good  view, 
poor  Mary  was  overcome  before  the  whole  of  Her  Majesty's 
forces.  It  was  some  time  before  I  let  her  hear  the  last 
of  that. 

Those  were  of  course  the  days  of  croquet,  but  I  cannot 
remember  our  playing  that  game  at  children's  parties. 
I  hated  outdoor  parties,  because  one  was  dressed  up  at 
an  unseasonable  hour  and  had  to  behave  like  a  little  lady  ; 
also,  as  happened  later  in  the  long  struggle  for  the  vote, 
the  males,  who  were  unable  to  do  without  us  in  private 
life,  cold-shouldered  us  in  public,  and  it  may  be  imagined 
how  a  tomboy  would  resent  this. 

To  go  to  the  seaside  in  the  summer  was  part  of  our 
ritual.  London  was  even  then  a  big  place,  and  then,  as 
now,  poured  its  drains  into  the  Thames ;  nevertheless 
Southend,  a  place  no  modern  hygienic  mama  would  dream 
of  sending  children  to,  was  generally  our  bourne.  There 
and  at  Broadstairs  my  life-long  passion  for  the  sea  awoke ; 
the  sea,  that  is,  as  viewed  from  the  land.  As  for  the  drains, 
my  father  had  sturdy,  old-world  views  on  such  subjects, 
and  often  said  there  was  nothing  harmful  about  '  a  good 
open  stink.' 

It  is  curious  to  think  how  much  less  fuss  was  made 
in  those  days  about  children's  ailments  and-  accidents. 
For  instance  one  day,  when  our  parents,  who  were  away 
on  a  visit,  were  expected  home,  I  made  some  toffee,  but 
forgot  the  first  rule  of  all,  to  butter  the  plate,  consequently 
the  mess  stuck  to  it.  I  leant  my  whole  weight  on  the 
knife,  holding  the  plate  firmly,  the  toffee  came  away,  and 
I  cut  my  left  thumb  literally  to  the  bone.  It  ought  to 
have  been  a  case  of  lockjaw.  I  held  it  in  a  jug  of  water 
and  bandaged  it  with  rags,  and  when  the  parents  arrived 
all  my  mother  said  was  :  '  That  comes  of  wanting  two 
treats  in  one  day  '  (the  first  treat  being  their  return  home). 


22  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED 

The  result  of  these  Spartan  methods  is,  that  all  my  life 
I  have  only  just  been  able  to  span  an  octave  with  my 
left  hand. 

At  this  stage  of  my  existence  I  stood  in  great  awe  of 
my  father,  but  adored  my  mother,  and  remember  her 
dazzling  apparitions  at  our  bedside  when  she  would  come 
to  kiss  us  goodnight  before  starting  for  an  evening  party. 
I  often  lay  sleepless  and  weeping  at  the  thought  of  her 
one  day  growing  old  and  less  beautiful.  Besides  this, 
wild  passions  for  girls  and  women  a  great  deal  older  than 
myself  made  up  a  large  part  of  my  emotional  life,  and  it 
was  my  habit  to  increase  the  anguish  of  love  by  fancying 
its  object  was  prey  to  some  terrible  disease  that  would 
shortly  snatch  her  from  me.  Whether  this  was  simply 
morbidity,  or  a  precocious  intuition  of  a  truth  insisted  on 
by  poets  all  down  literature — from  Jonathan  and  David 
to  Tristan  and  Isolde — that  Love  and  Death  are  twins, 
I  do  not  know,  but  anyhow  I  was  not  to  be  put  off  by 
glaring  evidence  of  robust  health.  I  loved  for  instance 
Ellinor  B.,  a  stout  young  lady  who  rode  to  hounds,  was 
a  great  toxophilite  as  they  were  called  in  those  days, 
led  the  singing  in  Church  in  a  stentorian  voice,  and  was 
altogether  as  bouncing  a  specimen  of  healthy  young  woman- 
hood as  could  be  met  with.  Persuaded  nevertheless  that 
this  strong-growing  flower  was  doomed  to  fade  shortly, 
I  one  day  asked  Maunsell  if  he  did  not  think  she  was  dying 
of  consumption,  and  shall  never  forget  my  distress  when 
he  answered  with  a  loud  guffaw :  '  Consumption  ?  Yes, 
I  should  think  she  may  die  of  consumption,  but  not  the 
kind  you  mean  ! ' 

At  Sidcup  too  I  learned  that  the  accents  of  tragic 
passion  have  as  poor  a  chance  of  being  understood  in  the 
nursery  as  elsewhere.  I  worshipped  my  lovely  cousin 
Louie,  and  one  day  when  she  took  me  on  her  lap  and  cuddled 
me,  I  murmured,  burying  my  face  in  her  ample  bosom  : 
'  I  wish  I  could  die  ! ' — whereupon  the  nurse  exclaimed  : 
'  Why,  Miss  Ethel,  whatever  makes  you  say  such  a  thing  ? 
/  thought  you  were  so  fond  of  your  cousin ! '  People's 
love  affairs,  in  as  far  as  I  could  get  to  hear  about  them, 
always  arrested  my  attention,  and  at  a  time  when  I  was 


THE  SMYTH  FAMILY  ROBINSON  23 

too  young  to  know  either  the  artist's  passion  or  personal 
ambition,  love  seemed  to  me  the  only  thing  that  mattered  ; 
but  nothing  less  than  Keats's  unquenchable  flame  of  course. 
One  day  a  letter  from  an  admirer  of  Louie's  was  indiscreetly 
read  out  in  my  presence  (she  was  then  a  young  widow)  and 
I  was  much  puzzled  by  the  phrase  :  '  O  f  or  one  hour  of 
your  love  !  '  Of  what  use,  I  said  to  myself,  could  one 
hour  be  to  anyone  ?  but  for  once  asked  no  questions. 

Most  of  my  early  recollections  are  connected  with 
turbulent  love  agonies  (my  own,  I  mean)  or  equally  tragic 
humiliations,  such  as  when  one's  drawers  came  off  at 
children's  parties — a  trouble  little  girls  are  born  to  as 
the  sparks  fly  upward ;  or  again  when  I  handed  a  penny 
to  the  Post  Office  clerk,  halfpenny  postage  being  unknown 
in  those  days,  and  guessed  from  his  manner  of  re-echoing 
my  demand  for  '  a  pennyworth  of  stamps '  that  I  had  said 
something  ridiculous.  From  one  of  these  trials — agonies  of 
love — years,  alas  !  set  us  free  ;  but  the  other — an  occasional 
sense  of  having  made  a  fool  of  oneself — will  be  with  some 
of  us  to  the  end ! 

To  conclude,  I  may  mention  the  fact  that  on  Sundays 
all  the  Mudie  books  were  swept  into  a  cupboard  and 
replaced  by  various  well-bound  serious  works,  one  of 
which,  '  James  on  the  Collects,'  was  known  to  us  as 
'  James  on  the  Colic.'  Sometimes  we  would  surrep- 
titiously overhaul  the  immured  library  books,  and  were 
driven  to  the  conclusion  that  one  or  two  novels  must 
surely  be  upstairs  in  my  mother's  bedroom. 

It  is  no  doubt  in  connection  with  this  and  other 
Sunday  practices  that  Nelly  and  Bob,  in  all  innocence, 
adopted  a  curious  version  of  one  of  their  Sunday  hymns 
which  seems  to  have  escaped  the  notice  of  their  elders. 
The  fourth  word  of  the  first  line  of  this  absurd  doggerel 
is  Sabbath,  but  the  children's  reading  was  : 

'  This  is  Sunday,  Suffer-day.' 


CHAPTER  III 

...    TO    1867 

RELATIONS  played  a  great  part  in  our  lives.  Some  are 
remembered  because  of  one  single  incident  connected  with 
them ;  for  instance  there  was  a  brother  of  my  father's 
whom  we  disliked,  chiefly,  I  really  believe,  because  waking 
up  one  night  and  suddenly  feeling  the  ivory  bell-handle 
bob  on  his  bald  head,  he  was  so  terrified  that  he  began 
bellowing  like  a  bull  (or  as  Violet  once  said  when  a  child, 
like  a  bull  in  a  basin)  and  roused  the  whole  household. 
Or  again  there  was  an  aunt  of  my  mother's,  a  shrewd  old 
maid  with  a  twinkling  eye — one  of  the  few  relations  who 
liked  me — whom  I  remember  because  of  two  remarks  she 
made  to  Johnny.  Once  when  he  was  fidgeting  she  ex- 
claimed :  '  I  really  believe  you  must  be  growing  a  tail ! ' 
which  I  found  intensely  funny  though  rather  risky ;  and 
on  another  occasion,  when  he  was  being  a  little  censorious, 
she  suddenly  said :  '  Do  you  know,  Johmry,  a  man  once 
made  a  huge  fortune  by  minding  his  own  business/  It 
took  me  some  time  to  understand  the  point  of  this  remark, 
but  once  grasped,  I  said  to  myself  :  '  There's  one  for  Master 
Johnny  I ' 

But  a  relation  who  really  shared  our  life  was  a  clergy- 
man cousin,  Hugo  J.  He  lived  in  the  next  parish,  always 
ate  his  Sunday  dinner  with  us,  adored  our  parents,  and  I 
really  think  spent  all  his  spare  time — and  he  was  a  busy 
zealous  priest — amusing  us  children.  His  draughtsman- 
ship was  quite  above  the  average,  and  besides  a  celebrated 
donkey-cart  picture  of  which  I  shall  speak  later,  we  still 
possess  a  water-colour  sketch  by  him  of  the  Bengal  Horse 

24 


THE  ISMYTH  FAMILY  ROBINSON  25 

Artillery  charging  a  native  regiment.  A  young  officer  in 
spectacles,  evidently  my  father,  leads  the  charge,  and  is 
slashing  off  a  Sepoy's  head  in  his  stride.  We  used  to  ask 
Papa  with  awe  if  this  really  happened,  but  he  only  chuckled 
behind  his  Times,  and  we  never  got  a  definite  reply. 

Kind  as  he  was  to  us,  in  those  days  I  did  not  love  Hugo 
and  I  don't  think  he  liked  me.  His  was  the  type  of  mind 
that  delights  in  scoring  off  people,  and  humbling  the  pride 
of  conceited  little  girls  ;  also  he  had  a  habit  I  have  always 
resented  of  saying  rather  unpleasant  things  in  a  laughing 
way.  All  the  same,  what  with  his  inexhaustible  talent 
for  inventing  agitating  games,  drawing  '  bogies,'  and 
immortalising  our  adventures  in  pen-and-ink  sketches,  he 
certainly  contributed  immensely  to  our  happiness,  and  the 
rest  of  the  family  were  devoted  to  him. 

He  it  was  who  started  in  us  the  craze  of  illustrating  our 
correspondence,  which  brings  me  to  yet  another  cousin,  to 
whom,  when  he  went  to  India,  Mary  and  I  wrote  adoring 
letters  by  every  mail.  Postage  to  India  was  is.  in  those 
days,  and  my  effusions  were  long  and  profusely  illustrated. 
After  months  of  correspondence  our  cousin  at  last  wrote  : 
'  I  love  your  letters  more  and  more,  and  don't  a  bit  mind 
their  having  only  a  penny  stamp  on  them.'  I  rather  think 
each  letter  must  have  cost  him  about  55.  and  he  was  far 
from  well  off. 

Other  relations  were  a  niece  of  my  father's  whose 
husband  was  quartered  at  Woolwich,  and  though  he  was 
a  delightful  person  with  children,  I  chiefly  remember  our 
being  once  sent  over  alone  in  the  brougham  to  lunch  with 
them,  on  which  occasion  the  doors  were  firmly  tied  up  with 
rope  and  the  window-sashes  plugged  with  cork,  so  that  by 
no  possibility  could  we  get  out.  Sometimes  I  think  we 
were  as  little  fussed  about  as  children  could  desire,  but 
recollections  such  as  this  seem  to  point  the  other  way.  The 
truth  is  probably,  that  our  parents  inclined  to  give  us  plenty 
of  rope  ;  that  we  then  took  too  much ;  that  aunts  and 
cousins  presently  stepped  in  with  criticisms  and  expostula- 
tions, whereupon  the  rope  was  for  a  while  drawn  very 
tight,  then  relaxed  again  and  so  on.  I  have  seen  this  happen 
in  many  families ;  the  children  know  all  about  it  and  put 


26  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED 

black  marks  against  certain  names  which  it  takes  years 
and  years  to  obliterate. 

An  infrequent  and  eagerly  looked-for  guest  was  my 
father's  cousin  and  contemporary  Colonel  O'H.,  an  Irish- 
man whose  tremendous  brogue  gave  extra  point  to  his 
tremendous  language.  A  former  Duchess  of  Atholl  once 
remarked  :  '  It  is  a  pity  swearing  has  gone  out  of  fashion, 
it  was  such  an  offset  to  conversation/  and  certainly  our 
cousin  did  his  best  to  keep  that  fashion  alive.  His  wife, 
who  also  had  a  strong  but  very  pretty  brogue,  was  of  the 
gentle  type  such  men  generally  prefer,  his  daughter  graceful, 
languid,  humorous,  and  very  wide  awake  in  a  quiet  way. 
Everything  connected  with  him  was  seen  through  the 
usual  Irish  spectacles  ;  his  avenue  was  the  finest  in  Ireland, 
his  daughter  had  a  prettier  seat  on  horseback  than  any  girl 
in  Ireland,  her  mare  was  the  best  bred  animal  in  Ireland, 
and  so  on.  What  most  astonished  us  was  his  jovial  freedom 
with  our  parents,  and  when  he  pressed  his  favourite  beverage, 
'  whisky  dilooted  with  sherry '  on  my  father,  thundering 
out :  '  What  ?  too  strong  for  a  seasoned  old  cask  like  you, 
John  ?  Aren't  ye  ashamed,  ye  owld  hypocrite  ! '  we  thought 
the  skies  would  fall.  But  my  father  merely  laughed  and 
took  it  as  a  matter  of  course. 

Most  of  this  old  gentleman's  remarks  were  deliberately 
intended  to  startle  and  cover  his  interlocutor  with  confusion, 
but  his  periods  were  so  rounded,  and  the  whole  thing  put 
through  with  such  a  swing,  that  it  was  impossible  to  take 
offence.  On  one  occasion  he  replied  to  our  very  genteel 
governess  who  had  mincingly  enquired  if  he  had  not  found 
it  very  cold  in  Church  :  '  Ah  ye  sacrilegious  wretch  !  If 
your  religion  doesn't  warm  ye  Satan  will ' — a  very  perfectly 
constructed  phrase,  shot  out  as  always  with  the  force  of 
a  bullet  from  a  gun.  In  short  he  impressed  me  more  than 
all  the  rest  of  our  relations  put  together. 

My  parents  were  very  hospitable,  and  certain  friends 
were  constant  guests,  including  many  old  Indians  whose 
names  I  have  since  met  in  print,  such  as  Sir  Alfred  Light, 
a  tremendous  buck,  middle  aged,  with  stays  and  dyed 
waxed  moustaches,  said  to  have  been  a  great  lady-killer ; 
Sir  Harry  Tombs,  Sir  Herbert  and  Lady  Edwardes,  and 


THE  SMYTH  FAMILY  ROBINSON  27 

others.  I  bitterly  regret  not  having  cross-questioned  my 
father  more  persistently  about  India  and  the  Mutiny. 
Nowadays  fresh  records  of  that  most  horrible  of  all  our 
many  wars  are  constantly  appearing,  and  a  queer  feeling 
rises  in  my  heart  when  I  come  across  certain  names  and 
remember  I  looked  on  the  faces  of  those  who  bore  them 
with  a  child's  indifferent  eyes. 

But  one  amazing  couple  of  old  Indians  who,  being 
relations,  often  came  to  Sidcup,  and  whose  names  figure 
in  no  records  whatever,  were  the  A's.  She  was  of  the 
great  Z  clan,  with  a  huge  oblong  face  the  colour  of  brick 
dust,  and,  but  for  her  tow  wig,  was  the  image  of  her  cele- 
brated but  not  beautiful  brother  Lord  Z.  We  were  not 
fond  of  her,  but  adopted  her  name  for  a  frequent  childish 
complaint,  '  scruatum  internum,'  with  enthusiasm.  Colonel 
A.,  a  pale  insignificant  man,  with  a  sad,  drooping,  white 
moustache  and  folds  of  yellow  parchment  skin  hanging 
about  his  jowl,  was  the  least  military  looking  figure  con- 
ceivable ;  and  I  have  since  learned  that  his  career  had 
been  far  from  brilliant.  Prototype  of  all  hen-pecked 
husbands,  he  was  ordered  to  bed,  ordered  out  of  the  room, 
ordered  to  talk  or  be  silent  as  the  case  might  be,  and  ordered 
out  riding  on  a  chestnut  horse  of  his,  called  '  Alma/  that 
ambled,  and  was  supposed  to  be  the  only  animal  he  could 
sit  on  without  falling  off.  As  he  rode  he  gently  flailed 
the  horse's  flank  with  a  gold-headed  bamboo  cane,  which 
being  hollow  did  no  harm  but  produced  an  immense 
noise ;  you  heard  him  coming  nearly  a  mile  off.  He  was 
put  on  diet  by  his  wife,  and  sometimes,  she  being  at  the 
other  end  of  the  table,  would  trifle  with  the  unpalatable 
messes  she  insisted  on  having  prepared  for  him ;  but 
presently  the  tow  wig  would  bend  forward  across  all  inter- 
vening obstacles,  and  a  gruff,  imperative  voice  uttered  the 
startling  words  :  '  Cow,  cow/  which  is  the  Hindustani  for 
'  eat/ 

This  reminds  me  that  when  they  began  discussing  matters 
not  fit  for  our  ears,  one  of  our  parents,  generally  Papa, 
would  suddenly  say  something  that  sounded  like  '  barba 
loaka  sarmnay/  which  means  '  remember  the  children/ 
and  continue  the  conversation  in  Hindustani,  much  to 


28  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED 

our  admiration.  It  seemed  strange  that  Papa,  who  couldn't 
speak  a  word  of  French  or  German,  should  be  so  glib  in  this 
heathen  jargon,  but  as  he  had  spent  about  thirty  years 
of  his  life  in  India  it  was  not  surprising.  My  mother, 
who  was  with  him  there  about  a  third  of  that  time,  picked 
up  her  Hindustani,  as  most  women  did  in  those  days, 
from  the  servants,  the  usual  number  of  which  in  a 
small  household  was  thirty  or  forty ;  according  to  my 
father  her  command  of  the  language  was  extensive  but 
ungrammatical. 

I  think  we  were  fairly  well  off  in  the  early  Sidcup  days, 
especially  after  the  death  of  my  maternal  grandmother, 
whose  only  surviving  child  mother  was,  and  who  bequeathed 
to  her,  among  other  things,  the  very  fine  jewels  and  lace 
of  which  there  will  be  dramatic  mention  presently. 

'  Bonnemaman '  as  she  was  known  to  us  in  contra- 
distinction to  our  very  English  '  Grandmama/  and  whose 
name  I  sometimes  remember  with  a  start  was  once  Mrs. 
Strath,  lived  in  Paris  and  was  a  mysterious  personality. 
I  never  saw  her  myself,  but  there  were  legends  of  her  having 
taken  to  her  bed  soon  after  she  was  forty,  partly  because 
of  rheumatism,  partly  from  '  foreign '  indolence,  and 
chiefly  in  order  to  receive  innumerable  doctors  in  becoming 
caps  and  bed-j  ackets.  We  gathered  that  she  was  considered 
worldly  and  gifted,  also  that  like  all  Straceys  she  had 
great  musical  talent,  and  years  afterwards  it  thrilled  me 
to  learn  she  had  known  Chopin  intimately.  They  said 
she  had  been  extremely  handsome — as  we  could  judge 
for  ourselves  when  her  portrait  by  Jonquiere  came  into 
my  mother's  possession — and  one  realised  vaguely  that 
an  unfortunate  second  marriage  had  taken  place,  it  being 
understood  that  the  initials  on  the  mother-of-pearl  counters 
we  played  round  games  with  must  not  be  alluded  to  because 
they  were  those  of  Mr.  Reece,  the  second  husband.  Louie 
once  told  us  that  when  a  child  she  had  been  taken  to  see 
her  in  Paris,  and  was  sent  out  on  to  the  balcony  with  a 
small  French  boy,  who  at  once  began  spitting  on  the  heads 
of  passers-by ;  when  suddenly  beautiful  *  Aunt  Emma  ' 
shot  out  and  boxed  his  ears  as  Louie  never  saw  ears  boxed 


THE  SMYTH  FAMILY  ROBINSON  29 

before  or  since.  Later  she  remembers  an  awe-inspiring 
peep  of  her  ill  in  bed,  all  white  lace  and  cherry-coloured 
ribbons ;  the  room  was  darkened  and  one  went  on  tiptoe. 
I  recollected  these  details,  because  anything  like  a  mystery 
rouses  a  child's  interest. 

One  morning,  some  time  in  the  sixties,  a  telegram  was 
handed  to  my  mother  under  the  acacia  tree ;  she  fainted, 
and  we  learned  that  Bonnemaman  was  dead.  After  that 
I  forgot  all  about  her,  till,  again  during  the  genealogical 
craze,  I  came  upon  some  rather  curious  correspondence. 

If  she,  as  is  evident,  was  imprudent  in  money  matters, 
Mr.  Reece  was  nothing  better  than  an  adventurer,  but 
she  adored  him  and  quarrelled  with  her  relations  on  his 
account.  These  must  have  been  odious  to  a  degree,  for 
in  one  rather  piteous  letter  she  says  it  really  was  not  kind 
of  Aunt  So  and  So  to  put  about  in  England  that  she  had 
large  cupboards  built  in  her  bedroom  in  order  to  conceal 
lovers ;  an  inspection  of  the  apartment,  she  adds,  would 
show  that  the  only  cupboard  large  enough  '  for  such  a 
wicked  purpose '  is  in  the  dining-room.  There  is  much 
discussion  about  raising  money  between  her  and  a  blunt, 
kindly  man  of  the  name  of  Guthrie,  possibly  a  trustee  and 
I  think  a  radical,  who  writes  a  beautiful  hand.  One  of  his 
letters  shows  what  people  who  foolishly  preferred  foreign 
countries  to  England  had  to  put  up  with  in  those  days, 
and  is  also  so  full  of  character  and  genuine  good  feeling 
that  I  cannot  refrain  from  giving  it. 

September  10,  1837. 

'  Pardon,  my  dear  friend,  for  the  coarse  terms  in  which 
it  appears  I  addressed  you  in  my  last  letter ;  the  line  of 
my  pursuits,  and  my  habits  altogether,  require  me  rather 
to  speak  the  facts  as  they  rise  to  my  mind,  and  I  believe 
I  study  far  too  little  the  conveying  my  thoughts  with  the 
courtesy  due  to  the  party  addressed.  I  must  go  abroad 
by  and  by  to  study  the  Embroidery  of  Language  and 
Sentiment,  but  in  the  meanwhile  I  cannot  honestly  retract 
a  word  of  what  I  previously  expressed.  I  disapprove 
decidedly  of  your  having  to  borrow  from  any  man  ;  the 
fact  itself  is  sufficient,  I  think,  to  prove  Indiscretion.  As 


30  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED 

to  the  Respectability  I  shall  say  nothing ;  you  would  not 
have  the  contest  in  your  own  bosom  were  you  not  conscious 
of  your  own  Wrong. 

'  You  speak  more  to  the  point,  in  my  view,  when  you 
hold  cheap  your  own  personal  Sacrifices,  if  by  any  such 
you  could  redeem  your  independence.  Is  this  a  bit-by-bit 
Tory-like  feeling,  or  can  you  come  it  strong  like  a  radical 
reformer  ? 

*  You  say  that  not  one  of  your  wealthy  kindred  can  or 
will  help  you.  Then  help  yourself.  Accept  the  situation 
offered  to  Madame  Guithart,  put  Nina1  to  school  with 
Amy  Loo  at  Miss  Coultons.  I  will  with  pleasure  find  the 
money  for  her  charges.  Take  Tiny  with  you  to  Jersey  and 
your  family  is  provided  for.  In  twelve  months  you  will 
again  be  a  Person  of  Fortune,  and  you  will  have  done 
nothing  you  need  be  otherwise  than  proud  of.  Nina  would 
be  greatly  improved  in  health  and  education.  For  I  hold 
that  French  Education,  however  elegant  and  agreeable 
it  may  be,  wants  the  honesty,  the  principle,  the  English 
feeling  which  gives  an  English  woman  a  Caste  and 
Superiority  over  the  women  of  all  other  countries,  and 
which  your  family  run  the  risk  of  losing  from  their  long 
residence  in  France  in  Foreign  Society. 

'My  suggestion  has  nothing  but  common  sense  to 
recommend  it.  The  idea  of  such  a  plan  will  horrify  and 
humiliate  the  proud  feelings  of  all  your  family,  but  still 
in  Moral  Honesty  it  is  unimpeachable,  and  in  all  its  Con- 
sequences would,  after  12  months,  be  beneficial  to  you  and 
yours.  Most  particularly  to  Nina,  in  whose  welfare  I  feel 
a  very  warm  interest,  and  not  less  in  your  own,  my  good 
Lady,  though  we  may  have  different  ways  of  proving  it. 
I  do  not  impeach  your  Code,  only  I  claim  a  right  to  think 
for  myself ;  it  is  not  worth  your  while  quarrelling  with 
me  because  we  may  differ.  You  can  put  my  letter  in  the 
Fire  and  thus  will  end  this  my  d — d  friendly  interference. 

'  Believe  me  always  yours  very  truly, 

'D.  CHARLES  GUTHRIE/ 

To  this  letter  was  added  a  very  unmitigated  postscript 
1  My  mother. 


THE  SMYTH  FAMILY  ROBINSON  31 

addressed  to  the  husband,  in  the  course  of  which  the  writer 
says  : 

'  If  the  unkindness  of  your  own  family  and  her  friends 
should  compel  you  to  mount  a  3  legged  stool,  or  even  to 
break  stones  for  a  season,  I  should  say  that  if  you  thereby 
redeem  your  Freedom  and  Independence  you  will  be 
comparatively  a  proud  and  happy  man,  and  every  sensible 
person  would  applaud  your  firmness  and  decision  of 
character/ 

Finally  he  declines  an  offer  of  hospitality  in  terms  which 
suggest  that  his  correspondent  had  been  insane  enough  to 
try  and  borrow  money  of  the  writer :  '  Otherwise  it  has 
always  been  a  pleasure  to  give  or  receive  kindness  of  your 
wife's  family  as  our  forefathers  mutually  delighted  to  do 
by  each  other — and  I  believe  neither  owed  the  other  any- 
thing on  the  score/ 

I  found  too  an  enchanting  letter  to  her  from  a  French 
friend  who  seems  to  have  lent  Mr.  Reece  3000  francs 
on  interest.  No  doubt  this  is  the  affair  alluded  to  by 
Mr.  Guthrie,  and  one  finds  a  clue  to  the  personal  sacrifices 
poor  Bonnemaman  was  prepared  to  make  in  the  following 
extract : 

'  Quant  au  sacrifice  que  vous  voulez  faire  pour  satisfaire 
a  cette  dette,  je  ne  Taccepte  et  ne  Taccepterai  jamais  dans 
la  forme  que  vous  me  proposez.  Non,  mon  estimable 
amie,  ce  n'est  pas  moi  qui  vous  depouillerai  de  ces  cachemirs 
et  de  ces  bijoux  que  vous  aimez  bien,  me  dites-vous.  Je 
ne  me  donnerai  jamais  le  honteux  relief  de  vous  avoir 
prive  de  ce  qui  vous  est  agreable  ;  d'autant  plus  que  ce 
n'est  pas  moi  qui  vous  aurais  reduit  a  une  si  facheuse 
situation/ 

To  make  up  for  this  dig  at  the  husband  he  speaks  of  happy 
days  spent  in  their  society.  .  .  . 

*.  .  .  grace  a  votre  esprit,  vos  talents,  et  ce  caractere  si 
aimable  et  rare   que  vous  savez  porter  dans  toutes  les 


32  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED 

relations  d'un  commerce  si  delicieux.  Moi  je  ne  les  oublie 
pas,  et  il  feront  encore  les  delices  de  mes  vieux  jours,  malgre 
tous  les  regrets  qu'ils  me  causeront.  Mais,  vous  le  savez, 
il  est  des  peines,  des  chagrins,  qui  ont  encore  de  la  douceur, 
et  j'en  trouverai  une  grande,  surtout,  dans  Tassurance  que 
j'ai  d'etre  toujours  digne  de  votre  amitie.  .  .  .  Adieu! 
Adieu  ! — vous  rappelez- vous  ?  Cetait  votre  maniere  de 
prendre  conge  !  .  .  / 

Then  there  is  another  man  friend  who  writes  from 
Calabria  and  is  called  Paris — a  name  of  which  no  doubt, 
if  they  ever  heard  it,  the  family  made  capital.  This  letter 
presents  the  husband  in  quite  a  new  light,  as  one  '  whose 
sound  comprehensive  understanding,  whose  deep  and  ex- 
tensive knowledge  of  men  and  things,  ought  to  make  him 
eminent  in  the  career  of  letters  he  now  proposes  to  take 
up/  Written  in  the  April  before  the  Guthrie  correspon- 
dence, I  imagine  optimistic  Bonnemaman  saw  wealth 
flowing  towards  them  through  literary  channels ;  the 
cashmere  shawls  and  jewels  were  not  yet  in  jeopardy.  In 
this  letter  a  reproach  is  levelled  against  her  which  delights 
me :  '  I  am  sure  you  overrate  other  women,  judging  by 
yourself/  and  elsewhere  she  is  told  that  her  intimacy  with 
a  certain  Madame  de  Lyris,  elderly  and  far  from  elegant, 
though,  the  writer  is  convinced,  generous  and  noble-minded 
at  bottom,  speaks  volumes  for  the  goodness  of  her  heart. 
'  Young  and  beautiful  as  you  are  yourself,  you  know  how 
to  appreciate  parfum  though  the  vase  be  old-fashioned  and 
unbeautiful/  Paris  seems  to  have  received  a  poem  from 
his  correspondent  at  a  critical  moment  which,  suddenly 
found  among  his  papers,  makes  him  suddenly  see  her  .  .  . 
'  a  delusion  that  faded  away  with  grief/  .  .  . 

Given  the  ridiculous  notions  that  prevailed  even  in  my 
youth  on  the  subject  of  '  French  immorality/  one  can 
imagine  the  construction  put  by  the  family  on  these  friend- 
ships, yet  I  feel  convinced  from  internal  evidence  that 
there  was  nothing  wrong. 

Tied  up  with  these  and  other  letters — mostly  disagreeable 
ones  from  near  relations — and  drafts  of  her  replies,  which 
though  dignified  are  rather  funny,  I  found  countless 


THE  SMYTH  FAMILY  ROBINSON  33 

conundrums,  charades,  and  Elegant  Extracts  in  French, 
English,  and  Italian,  copied  out  in  her  own  handwriting. 
One  of  her  most  stately  drafts  concerns  the  disobligingness 
of  her  brother-in-law  Sir  Henry  Durrant,  who  could  not 
find  the  time  to  write  out  a  '  quadrille '  which  had  taken 
her  fancy  while  staying  with  him  in  Norfolk ;  and  on  the 
other  side  of  a  still  more  uncompromising  draft  are  some 
cantering  verses  with  the  refrain :  '  And  I  am  the  Gipsy 
King/  I  do  not  know  whether  she  or  my  mother  is 
responsible  for  this  odd  inter-marriage  of  documents.  As 
'  Paris  '  remarks  :  '  Nina  promises  to  take  after  you/  and 
it  is  very  like  both  of  them. 

Bonnemaman  seems  to  have  followed  her  candid  friend 
Guthrie's  advice  and  retired  to  Jersey  for  a  while,  taking 
both  children  with  her,  but  after  the  death  of  the  youngest 
little  girl  the  family  insisted  on  exporting  an  English 
governess,  in  order  that  my  mother  might  have  '  some 
chance  of  being  brought  up  like  an  English  young  lady.' 
Finally  the  stepfather  became  so  impossible  that  there 
was  a  judicial  separation,  but  much  to  her  relations'  disgust 
Bonnemaman  declined  to  come  home  and  face  '  I  told  you 
so/  and  lived  and  died  in  France.  She  was  considered  to 
have  lost  caste  by  her  second  marriage,  and  as  separations 
were  looked  upon  as  disgraceful  in  those  days,  no  matter 
where  the  fault  lay,  her  situation  amply  accounts  for  her 
having  been  thus  shrouded  in  mystery.  Indeed  Alice 
remembers  that  some  time  after  her  death,  my  mother, 
ever  unconventional,  having  casually  remarked  :  '  I  wonder 
if  my  step-father  is  alive  ?  '  Papa  looked  greatly  annoyed 
at  such  a  subject  being  mentioned  before  the  child. 

Such  was  the  woman  who  was  hushed  up  before  her 
grandchildren  as  a  sort  of  family  disgrace  !  After  reading 
these  letters,  especially  hers  to  my  mother,  I  have  come 
to  the  conclusion  that  poor  Bonnemaman,  gifted,  warm- 
hearted, impulsive,  and  thoroughly  '  injudicious/  would 
have  been  my  favourite  relation. 


Not  long  after  her  death  came  the  tragedy  of  all  old 
Indians,  the  failure  of  the  Agra  Bank,  and  my  father  lost 

VOL,  I.  D 


34  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED 

most  of  his  savings ;  thus  in  early  days  I  knew  the  chill 
cast  on  a  cheerful  household  by  financial  worries.  Either 
then  or  earlier  he  made  heavy  sacrifices  to  ensure  each 
daughter  that  should  remain  single  £40  a  year.  As  five 
out  of  the  six  married  I  am  the  only  one  to  profit  by  the 
arrangement,  and  the  title  under  which  I  claim  this  pension 
would  dignify  a  far  smaller  sum.  According  to  the  India 
Office  I  am  a  ... 

BENGAL  MILITARY  ORPHAN. 


MAJOR-GENERAL  J.  H.  SMYTH,  C.B. 
(The  Author's  Father,  aged  about  70.) 


CHAPTER  IV 
MY  FATHER 

MY  father,  a  fine  example  of  what  is  fortunately  a  not 
uncommon  type,  was  one  of  fourteen  children,  six  of  whom 
were  alive  when  I  was  young.  Tall,  upright,  strongly 
built,  with  the  pleasant,  open,  very  English  countenance 
we  see  exaggerated  in  the  portraits  of  Mr.  Punch,  his 
bearing  was  equally  suggestive  of  kindliness  and  authority. 
Having  to  wear  spectacles  slightly  interfered,  to  my  mind, 
with  his  military  appearance,  but  in  his  Horse  Artillery 
uniform,  with  its  masses  of  gold  braid  and  shaggy  busby, 
he  was  a  fine,  soldierly  looking  man — and  in  all  costumes 
the  picture  of  a  gentleman. 

To  give  an  idea  how  the  England  of  those  days  flung 
her  youth  into  the  world  to  find  their  level,  he  went  out 
to  India  at  the  age  of  fifteen,  he  and  his  brother  having 
been  presented  with  commissions  in  the  Bengal  Army  by 
their  uncle  Sir  Theophilus  Metcalfe,  and  a  year  later  was 
responsible  for  roads,  transport,  communications,  law  and 
order,  life  and  death,  in  a  district  as  big  as  Yorkshire. 
There  is  an  anecdote  connected  with  his  later  Indian  period 
which  exactly  characterises  him — one  for  whom  duty  and 
obedience  were  paramount,  but  who  was  capable  of  trans- 
cending the  letter  of  the  law  on  occasion.  During  the 
Mutiny  certain  men  of  his  battery  who  had  joined  the 
mutineers  were  caught  and  condemned  to  be  hanged  in 
their  officer's  presence.  Their  senior,  a  sergeant,  the  best 
native  soldier  he  ever  had  under  him,  advanced,  saluted, 
and  said  :  '  Sahib,  you  often  told  me  I  did  my  duty  to  your 
satisfaction ;  grant  me  one  last  favour,  let  me  die  by  your 
own  hand/  .  .  .  '  And  by  Jove/  said  my  father,  '  though 

35 


36  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED 

our  orders  were  to  humiliate  the  mutineers  in  every  way,  I 
did  as  he  asked  and  hanged  him  myself/ 

When  quite  a  young  man  he  became  what  is  well  called 
a  martyr  to  gout ;  not  even  a  busy  life  and  limitless  sport, 
including  boar-hunting  (which  he  hated  to  hear  called  '  pig- 
sticking '),  could  work  off  the  floods  of  champagne  that  flowed 
in  India,  so  to  speak,  on  the  top  of  my  grandfather's  hogs- 
heads of  port.  But  between  the  attacks,  right  up  to  the 
end  of  his  life,  his  vitality  and  cheerfulness,  and  what  he 
chiefly  laid  store  by,  his  usefulness,  were  unimpaired. 

No  man  was  ever  more  loved  and  respected.  Single- 
hearted,  shrewd,  with  great  knowledge  of  the  world,  partly 
innate,  partly  acquired,  the  watchword  of  his  life  was  duty, 
which  he  pronounced  '  dooty,'  and  after  leaving  the  army 
he  threw  himself  into  county  work  and  made  his  character 
felt.  He  often  remarked  :  '  If  I  had  nothing  to  keep  me 
busy  outside  the  house  what  a  nuisance  I  should  be  in  it/ 
and  was  generally  determined  to  wear  out,  not  rust  out. 
They  always  said  he  was  first-rate  on  the  Bench,  but  once 
he  astonished  his  brother  magistrates  by  sharply  repri- 
manding a  young  policeman,  who  was  boasting  how  he  had 
hidden  behind  a  hedge  and  caught  a  man  riding  a  bicycle 
on  the  footpath.  '  Then  you  did  very  wrong/  said  my 
father,  '  to  go  sneaking  about  laying  traps.  You're  there 
to  prevent  people  breaking  the  law,  not  to  hide  and  tempt 
them  to  break  it ! ' 

He  combined  with  his  idea  of  service  a  simple  piety  he 
did  not  speak  of  but  which  his  whole  life  was  founded  on, 
and  he  never  went  to  sleep  without  reading  in  one  of  the 
little  books  at  his  bedside. 

He  was  a  keen  politician — Conservative  of  course — 
and  Chairman  of  the  County  Conservative  Union,  but 
advanced  in  his  ideas.  Long  before  the  days  of  Tariff 
Reform  he  was  in  favour  of  a  tax  on  raw  material,  and 
even  advocated  the  enfranchisement  of  women,  a  theory 
no  one  else  in  our  world  took  seriously.  I  remember  his 
pointing  out  that  three-quarters  of  the  land  in  the  parish 
was  owned  by  women,  and  that  it  was  monstrous  these 
should  be  denied  the  suffrage.  True,  I  think  he  was  con- 
vinced that  propertied  females  would  vote  his  own  way, 


THE  SMYTH  FAMILY  ROBINSON  37 

but  the  injustice  and  unwisdom  of  their  being  voteless  was 
what  pre-occupied  him  ;  no  one  believed  more  firmly  that 
fair  play  is  the  only  thing  that  pays  in  the  long  run. 

I  remember  once  when  I  was  a  schoolgirl  telling  him 
I  had  asked  Mr.  Pursey,  the  cobbler,  why  all  shoemakers 
are  radicals,  and  had  found  his  reply  '  Well  you  see,  Miss, 
we  has  time  to  think  '  rather  interesting.  But  Papa  was 
not  at  all  impressed  and  said  he  had  never  heard  such  in- 
fernal nonsense  in  his  life.  He  was  very  tolerant  by  nature 
and  disposed  to  hear  both  sides  of  a  question ;  still  con- 
victions are  convictions,  and  one  day,  when  he  was  well 
over  seventy,  he  remarked  confidentially  :  '  I  am  getting 
an  old  man,  but  upon  my  word  it  is  very  difficult  for  me 
even  now  to  believe  a  radical  can  be  an  honest  man.'  He 
always  took  the  chair  at  political  meetings  in  the  neighbour- 
hood and  nine  out  of  ten  of  his  speeches  used  to  end  with 
an  exordium  to  his  hearers  to  '  do  your  duty  by  your  Queen, 
your  country,  and  your  God/  We  children,  and  I  daresay 
our  neighbours,  used  to  look  forward  to  this  peroration  with 
some  amusement,  yet  it  was  uttered  so  simply  and  earnestly 
that  it  always  ended  by  impressing  even  me  afresh. 
Towards  the  end  of  his  life  modern  ideas  were  beginning 
to  undermine  the  respect  automatically  paid  to  the  gentry, 
but  no  one  protested  at  his  habit,  when  Chairman,  of 
silencing  objections  or  awkward  questions  by  rattling  his 
stick  furiously  on  the  table  and  declaring  the  motion 
carried  unanimously.  People  just  laughed  and  let  '  the 
General's '  high-handed  methods  pass  unchallenged,  such 
was  his  overflowing  geniality. 

He  was  an  unqualified  admirer  of  the  British  Constitu- 
tion, and  though  freer  than  anyone  it  is  possible  to  con- 
ceive from  snobbishness,  had  a  delightful  old-fashioned 
respect  for  Royalty ;  if  in  our  haste  we  stuck  a  postage- 
stamp  upside  down  he  was  seriously  annoyed ;  '  It  is 
disrespectful  to  your  Sovereign/  he  would  say.  For  dis- 
tinguished personalities  he  had  the  same  quality  of  reverence. 
I  remember  an  incident  that  amused  me  even  then,  when 
my  sense  of  humour  was  immature.  To  his  thinking  Glad- 
stone was  the  Devil,  and  hearing  that  great  man  was  coming 
to  speak  at  Aldershot  he  remarked  :  '  If  I  see  the  beast  I 


38  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED 

shan't  take  any  notice  of  him/  We  afterwards  discovered 
he  was  by  chance  on  the  platform  when  Gladstone  stepped 
out  of  the  train.  '  And  what  did  you  do  ?  '  asked  my 
mother.  '  Well/  was  the  reply,  '  as  a  matter  of  fact  I 
believe  I  raised  my  hat/  All  the  same  he  was  delighted 
when  I  evaded  a  suggestion  from  a  daughter  of  Gladstone's, 
a  neighbour,  to  come  over  one  day  and  sing  to  him.  Alas  ! 
young  people  are  terribly  earnest,  and  I  never  had  another 
chance  of  seeing  the  G.O.M.  at  close  quarters. 

Between  my  father  and  me  there  was  never  strong 
sympathy  ;  perhaps  he  recognised  from  the  first  a  stubborn 
will  that  was  eventually  to  triumph  over  his.  I  think  too 
the  artistic  temperament  was  distasteful  to  him,  though  it 
was  that  of  my  mother,  to  whom  he  was  deeply  attached. 
Once  when  Bob  was  a  child  Papa  found  him  busy  painting, 
and  flew  into  such  a  rage  at  a  boy's  indulging  in  such  a 
pursuit,  that  he  swept  the  whole  paraphernalia  on  to  the 
floor,  and  Bob  thought  he  was  going  to  be  cuffed. 

Yet  the  odd  thing  was  that  in  some  ways  he  himself 
had  artistic  instincts ;  Byron,  Scott,  Wordsworth,  and 
other  poets  of  his  youth  he  read  aloud  admirably,  and  I  was 
always  struck  with  the  musical  cadence  in  his  voice  when 
he  came  to  certain  sonorous  phrases  in  Family  Prayers. 
Again  no  one  had  a  keener  enjoyment  of  the  beauties  of 
nature,  but  none  of  this  helped  him  to  see  in  me  anything 
but  the  rebel  I  certainly  was. 

His  excellent  delivery  of  stately  English  prose  came  in 
well  reading  the  Lessons  in  Church,  but  he  was  not  a  reader 
gifted  with  presence  of  mind,  and  arriving  at  certain  strong 
unvarnished  statements  in  the  Old  Testament,  usually 
bowdlerised  or  omitted,  would  cough  and  stumble  and 
get  into  terrible  trouble,  much  to  the  delight  of  the  con- 
gregation. My  mother  often  entreated  him  to  look  at  the 
chapter  quietly  at  home  first,  but  this  his  pride  forbad. 
His  versions,  too,  of  some  of  the  crack-jaw  biblical  names 
were  sometimes  remarkable,  but  there  was  a  simplicity 
about  him  which  carried  off  anything  and  everything.  I 
can  see  him  now,  walking  slowly  up  the  aisle  to  the  reading 
desk,  sublimely  ignorant  of  the  fact  that  his  frock  coat  was 
buttoned  awry. 


THE  SMYTH  FAMILY  ROBINSON  39 

On  another  occasion,  when,  because  of  the  heat,  the 
Church  door  stood  open,  the  congregation  breathlessly 
watched  a  new  fox  terrier  of  ours  come  up  the  aisle,  its 
mind  full  of  misgivings,  and  eventually  with  shyly  wagging 
tail  begin  snuffing  his  ankles.  He  went  on  reading,  gave 
a  kick  to  the  right,  went  on  again,  gave  a  kick  to  the  left, 
and  then  said  in  furious  and  audible  undertones  :  '  Take 
the  brute  out,  somebody/  Which  somebody  did ;  but 
his  anger  at  this  incident  lasted  all  day  ;  it  is  the  only  time 
I  remember  him  doing  anything  approaching  sulking. 

As  years  went  on  he  got  more  and  more  gouty,  sticking 
manfully  to  tasks  other  men  would  have  abandoned  long 
ago  ;  but  when  the  time  came  for  giving  in,  he  did  so  with 
perfect  sweetness  of  temper.  I  used  to  think  my  mother 
rather  cruel  to  him  about  his  growing  infirmities,  but  they 
understood  each  other  very  well  and  he  did  not  resent  it. 
There  was  an  institution  that  on  her  birthday  he  should 
drive  her  out  himself  ;  but  when  it  came  to  his  being  obliged 
to  wind  the  reins  round  his  weak,  gouty  wrists,  she  could 
not  refrain  from  urging  he  should  let  the  coachman  take 
them.  By  this  time  his  hands  were  so  covered  with  big 
chalkstones,  that  our  old  friend  Sir  Evelyn  Wood  said  to 
shake  hands  with  him  was  like  exchanging  greetings  with 
a  mailed  knight,  but  to  the  end  he  persisted  in  carving 
chickens  and  ducks,  however  tough.  My  mother  would 
protest  her  helping  was  more  like  dog's  meat  than  anything 
else,  to  which  he  would  reply :  '  Well :  cut  off  what  you 
don't  want  and  send  it  back/  but  give  up  carving  he  would 
not. 

His  great  expression  for  actions  or  theories  he  approved 
was  *  right  and  proper/  For  instance  I  remember  one 
Ash  Wednesday  when  my  mother,  who  felt  lazy,  said  she 
didn't  think  she'd  go  to  Church  because  it  was  so  cold ; 
driven  from  this  position  by  his  statistics  concerning  the 
thermometer,  she  added  thoughtfully  .  .  .  '  and  then  I 
don't  like  the  Commination  Service/  '  You  mayn't  like 
it/  he  retorted,  '  but  its  right  and  proper,  and  you  ought 
to  hear  it/  He  adored  it  himself,  waggling  his  head  more 
and  more  approvingly  as  curse  after  curse  was  reeled  off. 

He  certainly  was  choleric  in  the  old-fashioned  military 


40  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED 

'  damn-your-eyes '  style,  and  if  a  footman  dropped  any- 
thing would  call  out  angrily,  even  at  our  grandest  dinner- 
parties :  '  God  gave  you  two  hands,  you  fool,  and  why 
the  devil  don't  you  use  them  ?  ' — a  strange  reproof,  for 
surely  dishes  cannot  be  handed  round  on  that  principle, 
but  I  liked  the  phrase  and  hope  the  footman  did.  One 
proceeding  of  his  greatly  delighted  our  tennis  guests ; 
if  they  stayed  too  long  he  would  hide  behind  a  big  laurel 
bush  near  the  court  and  ring  the  dinner  bell  violently  by 
way  of  a  hint ;  some  would  linger  on  purpose  to  provoke 
this  demonstration. 

When  his  own  family  fell  under  his  displeasure,  betrayed 
by  the  verbal  unreadiness  I  referred  to,  and  which  excite- 
ment and  anger  greatly  increased,  he  would  mix  up  his 
parts  of  speech  in  the  most  fantastic  manner.  Once  when 
Bob,  then  a  child  of  five  or  six,  was  teasing  the  dog  Kitty, 
Papa  exclaimed  in  violent  irritation  :  '  Now  Kitty,  if  you 
make  Bobby  bark  I'll  brain  the  poker.'  Or  again  when 
a  chance  cab,  after  leaving  someone  at  our  house,  agreed 
to  take  someone  else  to  the  station  if  not  kept  waiting, 
he  bellowed  up  the  stairs  :  '  Come  along  :  no  last  words  : 
the  cab  may  fly  any  moment/  In  my  youth  the  wine  was 
always  locked  up  by  the  family  after  meals,  and  one  of  his 
best  '  coq-d-l'dne,'  as  my  mother,  whose  delight  they  were, 
called  them,  was  :  *  Now  then  Bob,  lick  up  the  locker  . 
well,  I  mean  lick  up  the  shutter.'  But  it  was  in  the  tightly 
packed  Sunday  landau,  a  situation  calculated  to  rasp 
nerves  all  round,  that  this  mood  would  most  often  over- 
take him.  I  remember  his  saying  to  Nelly  and  Bob,  who 
were  grumbling  at  being  squeezed  to  death  :  '  Well  if 
you  two  infernally  thin  people  can't  sit  five  in  a  carriage 
I  don't  know  who  can,'  and  as  we  drew  up  at  the  Church 
door  he  added  :  '  Now  Mama,  you  come  first,  so  just  get 
out  of  the  window.' 

Some  of  the  things  he  said  in  his  public  capacity  used 
to  leak  out ;  how  he  advised  the  Bench  to  kill  two  stones 
with  one  bird,  and  informed  a  Committee  that  the  pollution 
of  the  Blackwater,  a  filthy  little  local  river,  was  mainly 
caused  by  the  '  vast  quantity  of  vegetable  marrows  flowing 
down  from  the  hills.'  But  in  private  life  he  never  beat 


THE  SMYTH  FAMILY  ROBINSON  41 

his  advice  to  the  mama  of  a  rheumatic  daughter  :  '  You 
ought  to  put  her  under  a  masher/  Once  started  on  the 
wrong  path,  his  conversation  would  be  on  these  lines  for 
the  rest  of  the  day,  and  my  mother  would  laugh  till  she 
cried. 

In  spite  of  his  insinuating  on  occasion,  as  most  elderly 
men  do,  that  he  had  been  anything  but  a  milksop  in  his 
youth,  I  cannot  think  he  was  ever  wild,  but  he  certainly 
had  a  weakness  for  what  he  called  '  a  bit  of  a  scamp/ 
and  always  maintained  his  best  subalterns  were  in  that 
category.  We  noticed,  too,  that  he  was  more  than  indulgent 
to  members  of  the  other  sex  suspected  of  frailty  ;  so  much 
so  that  Mary,  a  particularly  favourite  married  daughter, 
once  said  in  fun  :  '  I  wonder  what  you'd  do  if  /  went  off 
with  some  other  man  ?  '  Thereupon  he  became  angrier 
than  she  had  ever  seen  him,  got  up,  stamped  about  the 
room,  and  finally  went  out  into  the  garden  in  a  fury,  to 
reappear  five  minutes  later,  poke  his  head  in  at  the  door, 
and  say  with  terrific  emphasis :  'I'd  curse  ye  ! '  Then 
the  door  was  slammed  and  he  was  not  seen  again  for  several 
hours.  Such  is  the  logic  of  the  British  paterfamilias. 

As  time  went  on  expenses  increased,  income  diminished, 
and  his  children  used  to  think  he  was  rather  optimistic 
and  happy-go-lucky  about  his  affairs.  I  now  question 
if  this  was  so,  anyhow  I  remember  being  very  much  im- 
pressed— I  was  about  twenty-one  at  the  time — by  the 
quiet  good-humour  with  which  he  said  one  day :  '  I'm 
not  such  an  old  fool  as  you  all  think/ 

His  one  idea  in  later  years  was  to  rush  his  six  almost 
portionless  daughters  into  matrimony,  and  ship  his  only 
remaining  boy,  Bob,  off  to  India ;  and  with  one  solitary 
exception,  myself,  these  plans  were  realised.  During  his 
last  illness  he  insisted  on  the  summary  in  the  Times  and 
the  leading  articles  being  read  to  him  long  after  he  was 
past  following  their  drift  attentively,  and  died  the  death 
of  a  good  man  at  seventy-nine,  having  survived  my  mother 
three  years.  No  better  testimony  to  him  exists  than 
the  simple  words  our  young  rector,  Mr.  Basset,  who  had 
worked  with  him  in  the  parish  as  curate  for  many  years, 
spoke  in  Frimley  Church  the  Sunday  after  the  funeral : 


42  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED 

'  I  cannot  finish  my  sermon  without  referring  to  the  loss 
we  have  sustained  in  this  parish  during  the  last  few  days. 
One  who  was  well  known  to  us  all,  one  who  was  a  constant 
attendant  in  this  Church  and  read  the  Lessons  here  for 
us  for  many  years,  has  finished  his  earthly  life. 

'  He  had  had  a  long  and  eventful  career  ;  his  youth  and 
early  manhood  were  spent  in  troublous  times.  After 
many  years  of  active  work  abroad  he  did  not  seek  his 
well-earned  leisure  in  retirement  as  many  would  have 
done,  but  retiring  from  the  Army  he  at  once  took  an  active 
part  in  the  welfare  of  the  parish  he  had  made  his  home. 
We  all  know  the  zeal  and  energy  he  showed  as  magistrate, 
as  county  councillor,  as  school  manager,  as  a  member  of 
the  various  committees  he  served  on — a  zeal  that  those 
much  younger  than  he  often  wondered  at,  admired,  and 
almost  envied. 

'  Whatever  he  undertook  he  put  his  whole  energy  into 
it ;  he  was  never  indifferent,  he  was  always  hopeful  and 
enthusiastic.  His  opinion  was  ever  listened  to,  but  he 
was  one  of  those  men  who  are  open  to  conviction.  If  he 
could  help  anyone  in  this  parish  or  district  his  services 
were  always  freely  given,  and  many  can  remember  his  kind 
help  when  advice  was  required  or  some  wrong  had  to  be 
righted. 

'  At  public  meetings  he  always  spoke  out  his  mind  boldly 
and  fearlessly.  It  seemed  impossible  for  him  to  swerve 
from  what  he  felt  to  be  his  duty,  and  from  what  he  thought 
right,  whatever  might  be  the  results.  But  as  many  of  us 
know,  his  power  lay  in  his  personal  character.  In  many 
ways  it  was  unique.  Hasty  and  quick  in  temperament, 
yet  he  was  kind  and  considerate — beneath  all  a  gentle  and 
loving  heart,  almost  a  child's.  If  anger  found  a  place 
there  it  soon  passed  into  forgiveness  ;  he  could  not  cherish 
ill-feeling  :  it  did  not  exist  in  his  nature. 

'  It  was  perhaps  only  a  coincidence,  but  yet  remarkable, 
that  the  last  time  he  read  the  Lessons  in  this  Church  was 
at  the  close  of  the  Christian  year.  The  Lessons  he  read 
were  the  last  in  the  Calendar.  Some  noticed  then  that 
age  and  work  were  telling  on  him,  and  that  the  very  words, 
usually  so  well  read  by  him,  seemed  to  apply  to  him  that 


THE  SMYTH  FAMILY  ROBINSON 


43 


soon  the  silver  cord  was  to  be  loosed,  the  golden  bowl 
broken,  the  pitcher  broken  at  the  fountain,  the  wheel 
broken  at  the  cistern.  .  .  . 

'  He  has  now  passed  to  his  rest,  a  good  Christian,  a  kind 
neighbour,  a  true  friend,  leaving  behind  him  an  example 
that  we  should  do  well  to  follow/ — 52.  Peter's,  Frimley, 
AprilS,  1894. 


CHAPTER  V 
MY  MOTHER 

To  produce  anything  that  gave  a  real  idea  of  my  mother's 
physiognomy  was  beyond  the  art  of  any  known  photo- 
grapher ;  in  the  same  way  I  half  despair  of  describing, 
or  rather  making  live  again,  her  strange,  difficult,  but  most 
loveable  personality. 

It  was  a  case  of  baffled  genius  and  injudicious  bringing 
up  combined.  Whether  Bonnemaman  settled  in  Paris 
before,  or  only  after,  her  second  marriage  I  cannot  say,  but 
in  spite  of  all  the  family  said  and  did  to  prevent  it  my 
mother  was  educated  in  France,  and  at  that  time  French 
was  more  her  language  than  English.  Children  are  always 
incurious  about  their  parents'  early  days,  and  I  never 
knew  much  about  hers,  but  when  a  child  myself  I  was 
deeply  struck  by  her  account  of  a  vanished  feature  in  the 
Champs  Elysees,  typical  of  a  gay  simplicity  no  longer 
met  with  in  this  grave  world. 

It  appears  there  was  a  path  leading  under  a  creeper- 
covered  wire  archway  to  a  wooden  hut  in  a  shrubbery ; 
from  the  archway  swung  a  picture  of  a  gentleman  in  green 
peg-top  trousers,  who  was  raising  his  hat  to  a  lady  in  a 
pink  skirt  and  a  hat  with  drooping  ostrich  feathers,  and 
remarking,  according  to  the  legend  below  : 

'  Madame,  il  faut  que  je  vous  dise  adieu, 
Un  devoir  pressant  m'appelle  en  certain  lieu/ 

I  also  recall  her  telling  us,  that  in  the  revolution  of 
'48  her  mother's  windows  were  barricaded  with  mattresses, 
and  that  on  the  wall  of  the  house  opposite  there  was  a 
great  splash  of  blood.  Some  years  previously,  owing 

44 


MRS.  J.  H.  SMYTH 
(The  Author's  Mother,  aged  about  55.) 


THE  SMYTH  FAMILY  ROBINSON  45 

to  the  unsatisfactory  step-father  and  other  reasons,  it  had 
been  settled  that  she  should  live  at  Rackheath,  near 
Norwich,  the  home  of  her  childless  uncle,  Sir  Edward 
Stracey,  and  I  gather  this  very  handsome  '  frenchified ' 
girl,  who  sang  exquisitely,  was  looked  upon  as  a  dangerous 
interloper  by  less  brilliant  relations. 

At  that  time  my  grandfather  Smyth  was  Director  of 
the  Norwich  Branch  of  the  Bank  of  England,  and  thus  it 
came  that  she  met  my  father,  who  was  home  on  leave. 
The  wedding  took  place  from  Rackheath  in  1848,  and  in 
acknowledgment  of  her  offices  as  mistress  of  his  house 
her  uncle  presented  her  with  some  very  fine  diamonds, 
which,  when  travelling,  she  persisted  in  carrying  about 
on  her  person  for  safety ;  sometimes  in  a  brown  paper 
parcel,  mysteriously  tied  on  somewhere,  sometimes  sewn 
into  a  garment,  but  never  in  a  dressing-case.  These 
diamonds  were  not  entailed,  but  the  family  had  concluded 
they  would  go  with  the  place,  and  one  gathers  that  feeling 
ran  high  on  the  subject.  This  cannot  have  mattered  much 
to  her,  for  my  father  carried  her  off  directly  after  their 
wedding  to  India,  where  she  stayed,  as  I  said,  till  shortly 
before  the  outbreak  of  the  Mutiny. 

Indian  society  was  a  small  affair  in  those  days,  and 
what  with  her  wit  and  gaiety,  her  almost  Southern  beauty, 
and  her  music,  she  appears  to  have  been  a  sort  of  queen 
out  there.  And  judging  by  later  years,  when  we  wished 
he  would  put  his  foot  down  oftener,  my  father  may  possibly 
have  been  an  over-indulgent  husband. 

She  really  was  extraordinarily  un-English,  whether 
because  she  was  educated  in  France,  or  because  her  grand- 
mother was  a  certain  Mademoiselle  de  Lagarde — according 
to  her  portrait  a  wooden-faced  young  lady,  with  a  huge 
miniature  of  a  Protestant  clergyman,  her  father  no  doubt, 
plastered  on  to  her  flat  chest.  The  quick  vivid  gestures, 
for  instance,  were  foreign,  and  I  always  thought  were 
eyed  by  my  father's  sisters  with  some  disfavour  on  that 
account ;  but  above  all  her  way  of  looking  at  things  was 
utterly  the  reverse  of  what  is  called  insular.  I  remember 
a  little  conversation  between  us,  the  finale  of  which  caused 
one  of  my  aunts  to  '  bridle/ 


46  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED 

MOTHER  (heaping  her  plate  with  fried  parsley). — 'I  do 
love  parsley  ! ' 

ETHEL. — '  Yes,  fried,  but  not  stuck  raw  in  the  middle 
of  one's  eggs  and  bacon.' 

MOTHER. — '  O,  I  like  it  even  as  an  ornament ;  it  makes 
a  dish  look  appetising/ 

ETHEL  (sententiously) . — '  Do  you  know  I  have  come  to 
the  conclusion  I  don't  like  anything  that  isn't  founded  on 
common  sense/ 

MOTHER  (impulsively). — '  And  I  infinitely  prefer  things 
that  are  not  founded  on  common  sense  ! ' 

Against  English  conventionality  she  was,  of  course, 
in  secret  rebellion,  but  did  her  best  to  conform,  as  the 
following  fact  will  surely  prove.  One  of  our  annual  excite- 
ments was  the  arrival  of  '  Rouillard's  box/  a  big  case  sent 
every  Christmas  by  some  old  friends  of  Bonnemaman's, 
containing  French  books  for  children,  pralines,  and  the 
celebrated  barley-sugar  that  cost  me  a  caning.  Pere 
Rouillard  was  a  sculptor,  the  chief  pride  of  whose  life 
was  some  bronze  eagles  he  cast  for  the  Tuileries,  and  which 
I  suppose  melted  away  in  1871.  The  books  were  illustrated 
of  course,  and  when  the  scene  was  a  domestic  interior, 
a  certain  piece  of  crockery  was  always  visible  under  the 
bed  ;  this,  in  deference  to  English  prejudices,  my  mother 
would  transform  with  a  broad-nibbed  pen  into  a  very 
unsymmetrical  top  hat,  the  improbability  of  the  father 
of  the  family  keeping  his  haut  de  forme  in  such  a  place 
troubling  her  not  at  all.  I  still  have  a  fascinating  picture 
book  showing  how  a  tall  plump  fairy  taught  le  petit  Martin 
Landor  his  music,  aided  by  slimmer  fairies  whose  heads 
are  crotchets  and  quavers,  and  who  perform  athletic  feats 
on  rows  of  telegraph  wires  which  turn  out  to  be  the  staves. 
These  lessons  seem  to  have  been  given  at  night  time  by 
means  of  dreams  and  visions,  and  poor  Martin  is  always 
either  sitting  up  in  bed  staring  with  all  his  eyes,  or  being 
lifted  clean  out  of  it  by  the  tall  fairy.  Thus  on  every  other 
page  is  a  detail  brought  into  harmony  with  insular  notions 
of  decency  by  my  amazing  mother. 

To  describe  her  as  she  was  when  I  remember  her  best 
— about  the  age  of  the  detestable  portrait  given  here,  the 


THE  SMYTH  FAMILY  ROBINSON  47 

only  one  extant — she  was  of  middle  height  and  was  said 
to  have  had  a  beautiful  figure  in  her  youth ;  even  in  old 
age  she  was  far  from  unshapely,  and  her  arms  and  shoulders 
were  still  good  to  look  upon.  Her  hair  was  once  coal 
black,  but  I  think  she  took  early  in  life  to  bandeaux  with 
curls  over  the  forehead,  which  could  be  trusted  not  to 
turn  grey.  As  her  complexion  was  a  warm  brunette, 
slightly  helped  out  by  art,  the  black  hair  never  looked  dis- 
crepant, though  I  used  to  urge  her  to  change  it  for  the  soft 

grey  arrangement  she  admired  so  in  Lady  B ;    in  fact 

she  used  to  complain  I  was  a  '  regular  memento  mori.' 
Her  eyes  were  her  best  feature,  large,  dark  brown,  melting 
eyes  that  Louie  told  me  made  them  call  her  in  her  youth 
'  the  ox-eyed  Venus  ' — the  eyes  of  an  artist,  of  someone 
with  a  loving  heart — and  even  as  an  elderly  woman  she 
was  considered  very  handsome,  though  she  can  never 
have  been  as  handsome  as  her  second  daughter.  But  on 
the  other  hand  it  was  one  of  the  most  expressive  faces  I 
have  ever  seen,  and  as  her  moods  were  many  and  her 
passions  violent,  he  who  ran  might  read  much  on  that 
face. 

If  ever  anyone  was  meant  for  social  life  it  was  she  ; 
I  used  to  wonder  at  the  change  that  came  over  her  in 
society,  more  especially  at  her  gracious  hospitality,  the 
perfection  of  good  manners,  in  her  own  house.  She  adored 
entertaining,  and  though  I  used  to  reproach  her  in  times 
of  financial  crisis  for  her  '  love  of  dress/  I  was  obliged  to 
admit  that,  to  use  the  charming  French  phrase,  elle  portait 
bien  la  toilette. 

This  even  in  later  life  ;  but  how  I  wish  I  had  known 
her  when  she  was  young  !  One  day  after  her  death,  Lady 
Sydney,  whom  we  seldom  saw  in  post-Sidcup  days,  met 
Alice  in  a  shop  and  began  talking  of  mother,  saying  that 
when  first  they  knew  her,  she  and  Lord  Sydney  had  agreed 
that  never  had  they  come  across  such  a  brilliant  being. 
When  she  dined  with  them,  all  other  guests,  whether  English 
or  foreign,  became  colourless  ;  not  because  of  her  beauty 
and  charm,  her  wit  and  vivacity,  said  Lady  Sydney — these 
things  one  had  met  with  in  others  to  an  equal  degree- 
it  was  the  unique  personality.  '  Had  your  mother  married 


48  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED 

a  diplomat/  she  added,  '  she  would  have  been  known  and 
acclaimed  all  over  Europe.'  And  having  passed  a  good 
deal  of  my  life  abroad,  I  feel  sure  this  is  true. 

She  had  a  great  gift  for  languages,  and  besides  French 
and  Hindustani  knew  German,  Italian  and  Spanish. 
Though  she  had  visited  none  of  the  countries  in  which 
these  languages  are  spoken  except  France  and  India,  nor 
had  any  practice  since  her  schoolroom  days,  when  occasion 
demanded  off  she  would  start  with  fluency  and  idiomatic 
correctness,  not  to  speak  of  an  accent  she  owed  to  her 
musical  ears. 

For  her  strongest  gift  was  undoubtedly  music ;  she 
was  in  fact  one  of  the  most  naturally  musical  people  I 
have  ever  known  ;  how  deeply  so  I  found  out  in  after 
years  when  she  came  to  Leipzig  to  see  me,  and  I  watched 
her  listening  for  the  first  time  to  a  Beethoven  symphony, 
— watched  her  face  softening,  tightening,  relaxing  again 
as  each  beauty  I  specially  counted  on  went  home.  Old 
friends  maintained  that  when  she  was  young  her  singing 
would  have  melted  a  stone,  which  I  can  well  believe  ;  all 
the  warm,  living  qualities  that  made  her  so  loveable  must 
have  got  into  it.  When  I  knew  her  she  had  almost  lost 
her  voice,  but  enough  remained  to  judge  of  its  strangely 
moving  timbre.  Later  on  she  loved  to  hear  me  sing,  and 
it  saddens  me  to  think  how  seldom  I  gratified  her  when 
we  were  by  ourselves  ;  but  I  always  was  lazy  about  singing. 

She  read  at  sight  very  well  and  her  playing  of  dance 
music  was  gorgeously  rhythmic.  I  can  see  her  now,  pince- 
nez  on  nose,  rapping  out  the  beloved  old  '  Lancers/  leading 
up  to  the  curtsey,  gluing  us  for  ever  so  long  to  the  floor, 
and  sending  us  flying  back  to  our  places  with  incredible 
accent  and  go.  One  used  to  wonder  if  the  children  she 
played  for  noticed  how  different  it  was  to  the  performance 
of  their  own  mamas,  but  I  greatly  doubt  it. 

The  same  dramatic  instinct  made  her  cross-question 
us  in  what  we  thought  the  oddest  way  about  incidents 
of  our  walks  ;  '  Tell  me  exactly  what  happened  when  you 
met ;  did  you  bow  first  or  did  he  take  off  his  hat  first  ?  ' 
It  all  had  to  be  visualised. 

In  those  days,  Heaven  help  me  !  I  believed,  as  men  told 


THE  SMYTH  FAMILY  ROBINSON  49 

us,  that  feminine  quickness  of  intelligence  was  a  sign  of 
superficiality,  that  it  was  far  cleverer  to  painfully  count 
up  the  fingers  of  each  hand  than  to  see  at  a  glance  that 
five  and  five  make  ten.  I  was  therefore  not  as  much 
impressed  as  I  should  be  now  by  the  extreme  rapidity  of 
her  mental  operations  ;  but  I  soon  noticed  that  though 
her  judgment  on  impersonal  matters  was  markedly  sound, 
it  was  quite  another  thing  when  she  herself  was  in  question. 
Many  of  her  children  have  inherited  this  very  common 
weakness. 

As  I  said,  she  had  the  warmest  of  hearts,  and  if  violent 
in  temper,  was  a  generous  forgiver  and  forget ter.  But 
alas  !  capacity  for  affection  and  for  suffering  go  hand  in 
hand,  especially  if  you  have  a  vivid  imagination  and  neither 
instincts  nor  habits  to  control  it  with,  which  was  her  case  ; 
indeed,  whenever  I  think  of  her,  David  Copperfield's  phrase 
about  his  '  undisciplined  heart '  comes  into  my  mind. 
No  mother  ever  tormented  herself  more  strangely.  After 
saying  goodnight  to  us,  apparently  in  a  happy  frame  of 
mind,  perhaps  she  would  not  fall  asleep  at  once  ;  and  then, 
as  only  too  often  happens  with  the  hypersensitive,  the  passed 
day  would  shine  upon  her  pillow,  breeding  many  woes.  Mole- 
hills transformed  themselves  into  mountains  of  pain  and  des- 
pair, and  at  cockcrow,  as  it  seemed  to  us,  a  piteous  Odyssey 
would  begin  from  one  bedroom  to  another — we  used  to 
call  it  '  Morning  Calls  ' — and  in  each  was  recited  a  list  of 
wrongs  and  cruelties  suffered  by  her  at  our  hands,  slights, 
veiled  rudenesses,  or  ridicule,  the  whole  thing  as  often  as  not 
wholly  imaginary.  Explanations  were  seldom  of  any  use 
for  even  in  peaceful  moments  her  own  point  of  view  tended 
to  obscure  that  of  the  other  person, — so  much  so  that  we 
often  chaffed  her  about  her  style  of  relating  a  conversation  : 
'  So  he  said  something  or  other,  and  I  said  "  not  at  all 
that's  where  you're  quite  wrong.  ..." 

O  !  those  morning  calls,  and  O  !  the  pitilessness  of 
youth  !  .  .  .  .  Speaking  for  myself,  I  fully  realised  the 
intense  misery  of  her  heart  and  sometimes  met  it  sympa- 
thetically, but  more  often  with  impatience  and  anger. 
The  whole  thing  was  so  unreasonable,  besides  which  one 
wanted  to  go  to  sleep  again. 

VOL.   I.  E 


50  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED 

For  these  and  other  reasons  she  was  always  to  me  a 
tragic  figure.  Alice,  the  favourite  daughter,  who  knew  her 
seven  years  before  I  did,  in  younger  brighter  days,  thinks 
her  nature  was  at  bottom  a  happy  one,  but  the  self -torment- 
ing strain  must  always  have  been  there,  waiting  to  assert 
itself  when  youth  should  wane.  She  certainly  had  a  great 
sense  of  humour  and  her  laugh  was  wonderfully  merry 
to  the  last ;  indeed  there  were  touches  of  lightness  in  her 
that  sometimes  astonished  me.  In  the  midst  of  a  scene 
of  despair,  for  instance,  the  arrival  of  a  new  bonnet  from 
Paris,  or  a  bunch  of  roses  handed  in  at  the  window  by  the 
gardener,  would  transform  her  at  once  into  the  most 
cheerful  of  beings.  Children  are  generally  little  prigs,  and 
this  trait,  which  I  now  find  wholly  charming  and  touching, 
used  to  affect  me  not  quite  agreeably. 

When  she  was  well  and  happy  her  talk  sparkled  with 
subtle  turns  and  comments — I'esprit  Jran$ais  in  English 
garb — and  nothing  used  to  infuriate  me  more  than  the  stolid 
faces  of  the  rural  swine  for  whose  benefit  these  pearls  were 
lavished,  but  she  herself  took  it  with  smiling  indifference. 
To  see  things  wittily  and  express  them  felicitously  came 
naturally  to  her,  and  she  no  more  looked  for  applause  than 
would  a  swallow  circling  and  darting  about  over  a  meadow. 
All  the  same  this  lack  of  response  must  have  depressed  her 
unconsciously,  for  I  know  that  my  everlasting  delight  in 
the  point  of  her  conversation  gave  her  immense  pleasure. 

In  1875  came  the  great  sorrow  of  her  life,  the  death  of 
Johnny.  This  eldest  son,  of  whom  his  masters  predicted 
great  things,  had  a  slight  hunting  accident ;  his  horse 
swerved  jumping  a  fence  and  his  knee  caught  in  a  bough. 
That  was  all ;  neither  of  them  fell,  but  he  went  back  to 
Westminster  with  a  slight  limp.  Perhaps  it  was  only  a 
tiny  displacement  that  with  the  help  of  X-rays  might  have 
been  located  and  easily  put  right ;  as  it  was  he  was  pulled 
about  and  tortured  by  surgeons,  and  taken  to  Wildbad 
with  no  result.  Then  came  the  slow  agony  of  realising  that 
all  schemes  for  his  future  must  be  abandoned  ;  at  last  he 
took  to  a  wheeled  chair  and  died  two  and  a  half  years  after 
his  accident. 

Never  in  all  this  time  did  I  hear  my  mother  say  an  angry 


THE  SMYTH  FAMILY  ROBINSON  51 

word  to  Johnny  or  even  before  him  ;  he  disliked  scenes  of 
all  kinds  and  however  close  on  the  brink  of  the  tempest 
mood  she  might  be,  the  slightest  sign  of  distress  from  him 
would  calm  her  in  an  instant.  I  used  to  wonder  at  this 
and  might  have  guessed  from  it  how  she  loved  him  and 
what  his  death  meant  to  her.  But  as  he  had  always  been 
inclined  to  snub  me  I  had  no  particular  devotion  for  him 
myself,  moreover  was  wrapped  up  as  always  in  my  own 
affairs.  Thus  it  came  that  I  never  realised  till  after  her 
own  death,  that  with  him  most  of  the  sunshine  went  out 
of  her  life. 

She  was  very  fond  of  my  father,  and  always  maintained 
that  at  a  march  past  no  one  saluted  the  flagstaff  with  a 
gesture  more  noble  and  graceful  than  he,  at  the  head  of 
the  Artillery  Brigade  !  But  latterly  I  think  she  was  a 
little  jealous  of  his  popularity.  He  appreciated  good 
cooking  and  had  one  or  two  lady  friends  who  loved  to  give 
the  dear  General  lunch  on  his  way  to  and  from  his  county 
work.  When  possible  he  said  nothing  about  these  little 
treats,  but  sometimes  the  hostess  would  innocently  let  the 
cat  out  of  the  bag,  and  then  .  .  .  well,  then  I  first  began 
to  realise  that  the  most  salient  characteristic  of  the  British 
male  is  not  moral  courage. 

Apart  from  such  occasional  and  definite  twinges  of 
jealousy,  I  daresay  she  may  have  envied  him  his  simple 
sunny  friendliness.  As  can  be  imagined  if  I  have  described 
her  well,  she  had  any  amount  of  charm  when  she  chose  to 
exercise  it,  but  not  the  quality  I  mean,  which  seldom  goes 
with  genius.  Possibly  she  knew  certain  gifts  are  denied 
to  the  gifted,  but  if  so  would  not  have  reconciled  herself  to 
the  fact. 

In  later  years  guests  who  came  to  stay  were  not  a  success. 
The  first  day  they  were  made  more  than  welcome,  but 
we  knew  the  pace  could  not  last,  and  presently,  at  mother's 
request,  we  were  putting  about  legends  calculated  to  relieve 
the  situation.  The  usual  one  was  bad  news  just  received, 
which  would  cause  them  on  their  part  to  discover  their 
presence  was  urgently  required  elsewhere.  Visitors  whom 
it  was  impossible,  for  some  reason  or  other,  to  dislodge 
prematurely,  must  sometimes  have  felt  they  had  outstayed 


52  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED 

their  welcome,  I  fear ;  and  even  when  visits  were  short  she 
so  wore  herself  out  entertaining,  that  after  dinner  only 
one  idea  was  left,  a  furious  longing  for  bed.  But  it  was 
thought  uncivil  to  make  a  move  before  10.30,  our  canonical 
hour,  and  this  was  always  the  last  straw. 

We  used  to  watch  with  amusement  the  annual  duel 
between  her  and  one  of  her  cousins,  a  shrewd  pleasant 
woman  with  a  flow  of  conversation  I  have  seldom  heard 
equalled,  whose  hour  for  retiring  was  unfortunately  n. 
When  the  clock  struck  10.30  my  mother  would  say  :  '  Ah  ! 
there's  the  clock,'  and  begin  spearing  her  crochet  together ; 
but  the  other  considered  it  was  '  dear  Nina's  '  place  to  yield 
to  her  guest's  preferences,  and  the  stream  flowed  smoothly 
on.  It  was  very  agreeable  talk,  but  what  is  the  use  of  being 
even  brilliant  if  people  want  to  go  to  bed  ?  At  length 
when  the  hour  struck  she  would  say  in  a  mild  surprised 
voice  :  '  Is  that  eleven  o'clock  already  ?  '  and  slowly  roll  up 
her  own  knitting.  Never  once  did  my  mother  carry  her 
point,  and  I  could  not  help  suspecting  a  touch  of  malice  in 
this  phrase  taken  from  one  of  her  later  letters  to  me  :  '  Poor 
Georgiana  still  lingers  on,  but  gets  weaker  every  day — they 
say  she  talks  incessantly,  but  is  very  seldom  conscious.' 

As  time  went  on  her  hearing  went  more  quickly  down 
hill,  and   nothing    makes  greater  demands  on  sanity    of 
judgment  than  deafness.     I  am  certain,  too,  that  she  was 
a  classical  case  of  what  is  now-a-days  called  auto-intoxica- 
tion, and  that  this,  combined  with  internal  weakness  such 
as  often  afflicts  mothers  of  large  families,  chiefly  accounted 
for  the  uncertainty  of  her  moods.     After  the  girls  were 
all  married,  Bob  being  in  India,   I  lived  at  home,  and 
frankly  confess  there  was  no  house  large  enough  to  hold 
her  and  me.     When  away,  even  on  a  short  visit,  the  love- 
ableness  of  her  so  completely  took  possession  that  I  used 
to  say  to  myself  :   '  This  time  when  I  go  back  there  will  be 
no  more  rows,'  but  after  a  day  or  two  the  old  story  began 
again.     Far  be  it  from  me  to  say  it  was  all  her  fault ;    I 
was  not  nicknamed  '  the  stormy  petrel '  for  nothing  ;   but 
I  do  think  not  even  a  saint  could  have  lived  in  peace  with 
her,  if  only  because  she  had  nothing  definite  to  do  and 
over  much  time  for  brooding. 


THE  SMYTH  FAMILY  ROBINSON  53 

In  those  days  things  were  planned  as  a  matter  of  course 
from  the  point  of  view  of  the  male  only,  and  no  one  ever 
gave  a  thought  to  the  inequality  of  interest  in  the  lives 
of  men  and  women  of  her  generation.  My  father  was  free 
to  create  for  himself  as  many  outside  duties  as  he  chose ; 
but  my  mother,  unaccustomed  from  youth  upwards,  and 
I  think  averse  by  nature,  to  country  life  ;  no  walker,  caring 
nothing  for  sport,  which  was  not  the  fashion  for  girls  in 
her  day  .  .  .  what  should  she  do,  shut  up  through  long 
autumns  and  winters  in  a  country  house  not  300  yards 
from  the  Basingstoke  Canal  and  its  mists  ?  It  was  all  very 
well  as  long  as  there  were  girls  to  take  out,  but  I  lived  my 
own  life  of  work  and  games,  and  was  not  much  of  a  com- 
panion ;  meanwhile,  for  at  least  half  the  year,  to  go  out 
calling  in  a  shut  carriage  was  supposed  to  be  all  the  excite- 
ment a  Mama  on  the  shelf  could  possibly  need. 

Such  is  the  force  of  custom  that  I  think  she  only  realised 
by  degrees  what  poor  fun  this  was.  I  remember  her  com- 
plaining humourously  yet  rather  bitterly  of  a  way  the 
coachman  had,  when  in  a  bad  temper,  of  suddenly  lashing 
the  horses  and  making  them  go  on  with  a  bound  that  nearly 
jerked  her  head  off.  Calling  once  on  a  very  dull  neighbour 
who  lived  four  miles  away,  the  carriage  having  by  some 
misunderstanding  gone  off  home,  when  she  realised  that 
there  was  no  immediate  escape  from  the  intolerable  boredom 
of  her  friend,  she  fainted  dead  away. 

True  she  was  physically  indolent,  and  would  sit  for 
ages,  her  toes  on  the  fender,  her  skirt  turned  back  over  an 
embroidered  white  petticoat,  staring  peacefully  into  the  fire. 
At  such  times  she  would  often  draw  eights  in  the  air 
with  one  foot,  and  only  a  few  years  ago  my  friend  Lady 
Ponsonby,  who  never  saw  her,  suddenly  said  to  me  :  '  Do 
you  know  when  you  are  thinking  you  draw  eights  in  the 
air  with  your  toe  ?  '  This  trick  of  my  mother's  rather 
got  on  our  nerves,  and  Nina,  who  never  used  elaborate 
language,  but  often  fell  asleep  after  dinner,  even  in  those 
early  days,  once  astonished  us  by  drowsily  murmuring  : 
'  It  is  taking  no  exercise  that  gives  her  that  regrettable 
flexibility  of  the  muscles/  Nevertheless  if  it  was  a  question 
of  starting  for  her  annual  pilgrimages  to  Homburg  or 


54  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED 

Wiesbaden,  where  the  change  of  scene  and  the  listening 
to  music  delighted  her,  or  of  going  up  to  London,  when 
fit,  to  the  play  or  to  concerts,  in  short  of  doing  any- 
thing that  amused  her,  this  indolence  vanished  like  magic. 
Mercifully  she  was  fond  of  reading,  but  you  can't  read 
all  day,  and  hours  upon  hours  must  have  hung  like  lead 
on  her  hands. 

In  a  word,  if  bad  health  was  one  cause  of  trouble, 
another  was  boredom — boredom  to  death ;  yet  no  one 
tried  harder,  especially  in  later  years,  '  to  be  good '  as 
children  say,  and  that  is  why  I  dare  not  dwell  in  thought 
on  several  incidents  in  our  mutual  life,  dreading  the  in- 
evitable rush  of  useless  remorse.  In  the  winter  of  1890-91 
matters  came  to  a  crisis ;  one  day  she  announced  quite 
suddenly  that,  more  or  less  crippled  as  she  was  for  half  the 
year,  she  could  stand  Frimhurst  no  longer  and  must  really 
live  in  London  !  ...  It  was  tragic — this  dream  of  beginning 
life  afresh  at  66,  these  visions  of  theatres,  concerts,  and 
other  distractions  for  which  she  no  longer  had  health  and 
strength  !  .  .  .  I  think  she  herself  felt  the  hopelessness  of 
the  idea,  for  a  few  days  later  she  told  me  she  had  aban- 
doned it,  and  meant  to  try  and  make  the  best  of  things 
as  they  were.  .  .  . 

Meanwhile,  little  as  we  knew  it,  her  days  were 
numbered ;  she  suddenly  fell  ill,  and  three  weeks  after 
that  outburst,  we  buried  her  beside  Johnny  in  Frimley 
churchyard, — this  mother  with  whom  I  fought  so  des- 
perately, whom  I  loved  so  dearly,  and  of  whose  presence 
I  grow  daily  more  and  more  conscious.  .  .  . 

Of  her  death  I  cannot  speak,  except  to  say  that  it 
was  piteous,  heroic,  and  probably  unnecessary.  Had  the 
doctor  at  once  recognised  what  wras  wrong,  had  a  surgeon 
been  fetched  without  delay,  perhaps  her  life  might  have 
been  saved.  Of  these  things,  too,  it  is  useless  to  think ; 
but  as  time  goes  on  my  certainty  increases,  mercifully  for 
me,  that  some  day  we  shall  have  a  chance  of  making  good 
our  shortcomings  towards  those  whose  memory  haunts  us 
most  abidingly — the  people  who  really  loved  us. 


CHAPTER  VI 
A  RETROSPECT 

IN  1867,  my  father  having  been  given  command  of  the 
Artillery  at  Aldershot,  we  left  Sidcup,  and  took  up  our 
abode  at  Frimhurst  in  the  village  of  Frimley,  a  couple  of 
miles  from  Farnborough,  where  I  lived  till  his  death  in  1894. 

On  the  chance  that  other  people  rush  as  eagerly  as  I 
do  to  any  window,  no  matter  how  humble,  from  which  a 
glimpse  into  the  past  may  be  obtained,  this  seems  as  good 
a  place  as  any  to  stop  for  a  moment  and  try  to  give  an  idea 
of  the  social  framework  in  which  a  family  such  as  ours 
was  set  in  the  early  seventies — a  period  which  now  seems 
almost  as  remote  as  '  Cranford/ 

It  must  be  borne  in  mind  that  unlike  the  scene  of  that 
delightful  book,  Frimley  was  even  then  not  a  real  country 
neighbourhood.  The  proximity  of  the  biggest  camp  in 
England,  the  Staff  College,  and  Sandhurst,  brought  a  great 
deal  of  amusement  in  its  train,  and  also  that  rarest  element 
in  the  country,  an  unfailing  supply  of  men — a  considera- 
tion when  you  have  six  daughters  to  marry.  This  factor 
no  doubt  weighed  with  my  father  when,  on  the  expiration 
of  his  Aldershot  command,  he  decided  to  buy  Frimhurst ; 
besides  which,  as  the  heads  of  big  units  were  automatically 
called  on  by  the  county  families,  we  already  knew  what 
was  dreadfully  styled  '  the  nice  people/  On  reflection  I 
think  the  presence  of  a  large  floating  population  brought 
rather  an  unstable  element  into  life.  At  first  there  was 
an  attempt  to  interest  us  in  household  duties,  and  we  took 
it  in  turns  to  solemnly  unlock  the  storeroom  door  and 
watch  the  cook  weighing  out  10  Ibs.  of  rice  and  12  Ibs.  of 
sugar  ;  but  by  degrees  this  ideal  lapsed,  and  ended,  much 

55 


56  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED       1867-72 

to  the  relief  of  the  younger  members  of  the  family,  in  a 
sort  of  budget  system,  checked  on  Saturdays  by  Papa. 

About  one  thing  there  was  no  slackness ;  neighbourli- 
ness  and  entertaining  were  looked  on  as  duties ;  everyone 
who  had  a  garden  gave  garden  parties,  and  those  who  had 
the  means  dinner  parties,  on  which  latter  occasions  terrible 
things  went  on  after  dinner  in  the  way  of  music.  One  of 
our  neighbours  belonging  to  the  '  nice  people '  class  never 
dined  out  without  his  cornet-a-piston,  on  which  instrument 
he  would  blast  forth  '  Ah  che  la  morte  ognora/  accompanied 
by  his  gentle  smiling  wife,  who  said  the  cornet  box  was  so 
nice  in  the  brougham,  keeping  one's  feet  out  of  the  draught. 
As  for  calling,  that  duty  ranked  immediately  after  going 
to  Church  on  Sunday,  but  it  was  an  axiom  that  the  more 
exalted  the  old  resident's  social  position,  the  less  would  be 
the  alacrity  shown  in  swallowing  fresh  bait.  Thus  from 
lips  of  persons  trembling  on  the  verge  of  friendliness  you 
often  heard  the  remark :  '  So  and  so  hasn't  called  yet/ 
I  suppose  this  is  human  nature  but  it  seems  very  snobbish 
and  ridiculous. 

Incidentally,  by  way  of  keeping  up  the  moral  tone  of 
the  neighbourhood,  cruel  actions  would  be  committed.  I 
remember  one  couple,  humdrum  and  apparently  respectable 
to  a  fault ;  he,  a  big,  blowsy,  rather  foolish-looking  man 
less  like  a  Lovelace  than  any  male  on  this  planet ;  she,  tall, 
elegant  in  the  washed-out  style ;  both  of  them  more  than 
humble  and  apologetic,  as  was  only  right,  for  it  was  darkly 
rumoured  that  once  upon  a  time  things  had  not  been  as 
they  should  between  them.  It  had  all  happened,  if  ever, 
long  ago,  and  meanwhile  here  they  were  in  our  midst, 
childless,  middle-aged,  and  tightly  married;  none  the 
less  ostracism,  mitigated  but  inflexible,  was  their  lot.  They 
were  asked  to  the  large  garden  parties,  seldom  to  small 
ones,  and  never,  never  to  dinner.  .  .  .  Yes !  once,  for  the 
wife  of  a  Staff  College  officer,  the  Hon.  Mrs.  Somebody, 
whose  forgotten  name  and  kind  heart  I  bless,  actually  did 
ask  the  outcasts  to  dine,  and  for  a  moment  their  stocks 
went  up  with  a  bound.  But  after  all  the  Hon.  Mrs.  Some- 
body, though  an  aristocrat,  was  a  bird  of  passage,  whose 
vagaries  should  not  influence  the  settled  attitude  of  perma- 


1867-72       THE  SMYTH  FAMILY  ROBINSON  57 

nent  residents,  so  back  the  poor  couple  went  to  the  Arctic 
Circle. 

If  any  clergyman  should  read  these  lines  let  me  tell 
him  that  I,  a  child,  often  wondered  how  this  sort  of 
thing  squared  with  the  Christian  charity  talked  about  in 
the  pulpit.  Children  accept  many  strange  things  un- 
questioningly,  still  more  they  never  notice  at  all,  but  that 
thing  I  noticed  sharply  and  felt  about  as  violently  as  I  do 
now.  Had  anyone  spoken  in  this  sense  to  our  old  rector, 
I  can  imagine  his  embarrassment,  the  nervous  giggle,  the 
mumbled  platitude,  the  hasty  retreat ;  for  he  was  not, 
and  did  not  pretend  to  be,  a  strenuous  priest,  but  simply 
an  incumbent  of  the  old  school — that  is  a  man  of  good 
family  and  education,  who  looked  upon  his  rectorship  as  a 
sinecure,  and  would  have  considered  special  attention  to 
the  morals  and  spiritual  needs  of  his  flock  eccentric  and 
rather  impertinent. 

Then  there  were  the  county  balls  to  which  of  course 
residents  subscribed,  and  at  which  the  humbler  country 
families  had  the  privilege  of  mingling  with  the  magnates  and 
trying  to  identify  the  brilliant  units  o±  their  house  parties. 
At  Guildford  the  ball  was  not  supposed  to  have  really 
started  till  the  contingents  from  East  Horseley  Towers, 
Peper  Harow,  and  Clandon  had  arrived ;  and  quantities 
of  people  only  began  to  enjoy  themselves  when  the 
grandees,  who  seldom  stayed  long,  had  departed,  taking 
with  them  the  deadly  hypnotic  power  they  exercised  over 
the  smaller  fry. 

Of  course  these  great  ones  gave  balls,  also  humbler 
people  like  ourselves,  but  we  called  them  dances.  To 
step  for  a  moment  out  of  our  neighbourhood :  staying 
in  Yorkshire,  when  I  was  about  sixteen,  with  the  mother 
of  a  school-friend,  I  was  taken  to  Wentworth,  where  once 
a  week,  all  the  time  they  were  in  residence,  Lord  and 
Lady  Fitzwilliam  received  any  friends  and  acquaintances 
who  chose  to  come.  Lord  Fitzwilliam,  who  was  then 
Lord-Lieutenant,  wore  breeches,  silk  stockings,  and  his 
Garter  ribbon,  and  everything,  including  the  stand-up 
supper,  was  most  gorgeous,  yet  somehow  or  other  homely. 
There  might  be  40  guests,  there  might  be  150,  according 


58  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED        1867-72 

to  the  weather,  and  these  entertainments  must  have  cost 
a  great  deal,  but  thus  did  Lord  Fitzwilliam  conceive  his 
duty  towards  his  neighbour.  I  remember  that  my  hostess, 
a  cousin  of  Lady  Fitzwilliam's  and  herself  a  woman  of  very 
good  family,  made  a  little  curtsey  when  she  greeted  the 
lady  of  the  house — a  survival  of  respect  for  office  which 
struck  me  curiously  and  agreeably.  The  whole  thing  was 
a  glimpse  of  an  epoch  even  then  belonging  to  the  past. 

To  return  to  Frimhurst.  The  military  environment  of 
course  affected  the  rural  population  and  indeed  may  be 
said  to  have  created  Frimley,  which,  originally  a  few 
straggling  cottages  on  the  verge  of  a  big  stretch  of  heather- 
land,  only  became  an  independent  village  when  Aldershot 
was  selected  as  site  for  the  camp.  Hence  there  were  very 
few  old  farmhouses  about,  but  in  one  of  these,  of  which 
only  a  ruined  cart-shed  now  remains,  I  have  tasted  home- 
made gooseberry  wine — a  beverage  now  almost  as  mythical 
as  metheglyn.  I  wonder  how  many  miles  west  of  Frimley 
you  would  have  to  travel  nowadays  to  find  a  farm  where 
it  is  still  concocted  ? 

Of  our  relations  with  the  villagers  I  have  few  recol- 
lections, nor  were  they  typical,  because  there  was  little 
feudal  tradition  in  such  a  neighbourhood,  and  that  little 
in  course  of  extinction.  Partly  from  egotism,  but  mainly, 
I  honestly  think,  because  it  always  struck  me  as  indiscreet, 
I  myself  did  little  visiting  among  our  poorer  neighbours. 
But  the  associations  of  a  common  youth  are  imperishable 
things,  and  between  myself  and  contemporary  Fnmleyites, 
especially  younger  ones  who  were  in  my  Sunday-School 
class,  a  very  tender  bond  still  exists,  though  I  don't  see 
them  often.  I  remember  that  extremely  poor  old  women 
used  to  come  up  on  Saturdays  for  soup,  and  when  a  doctor's 
order  could  be  produced,  for  a  bottle  of  port.  There  also 
were  presents  at  Christmas,  and  one  old  woman  once  wrote 
to  my  mother  :  '  If  there  are  any  flannel  petticoats  or  other 
Xmas  gifts  going  I  shall  be  found  very  acceptable/ 

This  of  course  was  private  charity — what  a  foreign 
cook  of  ours  called  '  giving  to  the  door ' — but  on  the  subject 
of  official  outdoor  relief  my  father  held,  in  common  with 
most  poor  law  guardians,  what  the  women  of  his  family 


i867-72       THE  SMYTH  FAMILY  ROBINSON  59 

used  to  think  unsympathetic  views.  The  strong  objection 
felt  by  every  villager  I  have  ever  come  across  to  '  the 
House '  was  in  his  opinion  unreasonable  and  pig-headed, 
specially,  perhaps,  because  he  took  immense  trouble  about 
his  own  Farnham  Union  and  described  it  as  a  sort  of  earthly 
paradise.  Alas !  though  the  horrors  exposed  in  '  Oliver 
Twist '  had  been  abolished,  their  memory  was  in  the  blood 
of  the  people.  It  seems  to  me  that  willingness  to  get 
along  anyhow  at  home,  rather  than  be  obviously  on  the 
parish,  is  not  without  dignity,  and  if  outdoor  relief  is  actually 
being  received  you  still  are  keeping  up  appearances — a 
decent  form  of  the  hypocrisy  so  dear  to  English  minds. 
But  to  understand  all  this  requires  imagination,  my  father's 
weak  point. 

Where  the  question  was  one  of  level-headedness  and 
common  sense  he  never  failed.  For  instance  when  the 
County  Council  schemes  destroyed  the  monopoly  of  the 
gentry  to  sit  on  the  Bench,  many  of  his  brother  magistrates 
were  prepared  to  resign  rather  than  act  on  terms  of  equality 
with  the  grocer ;  but  my  father  maintained  it  was  more 
than  ever  the  duty  of  men  of  breeding  and  education  to 
stick  to  the  ship,  and  keep  touch  with  the  class  in  whose 
hands  more  and  more  power  was  likely  to  be  placed.  The 
result  was  that  not  one  of  the  old  magistrates  resigned. 

On  one  point  I  am  of  course  absolutely  ignorant,  the 
morality  of  our  rural  population.  After  the  revelations 
that  came  to  all  women  in  the  fight  for  the  vote,  and  since 
I  myself  reached  an  age  at  which  it  is  possible  to  glean 
first-hand  evidence,  and  know  how  even  the  best  and  most 
decent  '  good  fellows '  of  one's  own  acquaintance  live, 
what  chiefly  amazes  me  is  the  contrast  between  the  smooth 
surface  of  society  and  the  orgiastic  whirlpool  below.  This 
surface,  particularly  smooth  in  England,  is  worked  up  by 
each  race  according  to  its  genius  and  must  be  assumed 
to  be  a  necessity,  but  it  is  strange  to  think  how  completely 
women  of  my  generation  were  taken  in  by  it.  Of  course 
with  the  vote,  the  worst  evils,  bred  of  our  complete  divorce 
from  reality,  will  be  gradually  removed,  which  is  better 
than  nothing — being  about  as  much  as  the  individual 
who  attempts  to  reform  his  own  character  can  hope  for 


60  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED        1867-72 

It  is  a  commonplace  to  mention  the  decrease  of  drunken- 
ness, but  I  do  it  because  if,  as  a  child,  you  were  in  the  habit 
of  walking  about  country  lanes,  the  altered  state  of  things 
comes  home  to  you  with  more  force  than  as  a  thesis  found 
in  a  pamphlet  on  social  evolution.  It  was  quite  usual 
then  to  see  men  reeling  about  the  roads  on  Saturdays  and 
Sundays,  now  it  is  quite  the  exception.  So  much  so  that 
on  hearing  recently  how  the  stately  footman  of  a  friend 
of  ours  was  ordered  to  descend  from  the  box  and  assist 
an  invalid  in  the  ditch,  who  turned  out  to  be  an  old  gipsy 
woman,  exceedingly  drunk  and  only  equal  to  ejaculating 
repeatedly :  '  Blesh  you  darlin',  blesh  you  darlinY  one  had 
quite  a  sentimental  old-times  feeling. 

In  conclusion,  if  these  general  observations  seem,  as 
they  do  to  me,  somewhat  meagre,  it  only  proves  what 
was  said  before — that  life  in  our  neighbourhood  was  not 
of  the  classical  well-ordered  rural  type,  but  rather  a  foretaste 
of  the  cinema. 


CHAPTER  VII 

1867  TO  1872 

I  HAVE  been  trying  to  recall  whether  up  to  the  time  of 
our  migration  to  Frimhurst  I  had  shown  a  special  bent 
for  music.  Probably,  for  Pere  Rouillard  specially  mentioned 
that  '  Martin  Landor '  was  for  '  la  petite  musicienne.' 
I  don't  think  I  composed  in  the  Sidcup  days,  but  Mary 
and  I  sang  little  duets,  simple  tunes  to  which  I  put '  seconds  ' 
as  it  was  called,  and  in  the  quality  of  those  seconds  and  my 
accompaniments,  I  myself,  had  I  been  listening,  should 
certainly  have  detected  a  natural  gift.  But  to  judge  these 
things  takes  an  expert,  and  my  mother  had  had  no  real 
musical  training.  Transposing  and  playing  by  ear  came 
naturally  to  me,  but  so  it  did  to  her,  so  she  would  not  have 
been  much  impressed  by  that ;  or  perhaps  she  thought 
I  was  conceited  enough  without  special  encouragement  as 
regards  my  music  ;  anyhow  I  cannot  remember  hearing 
or  thinking  much  about  it. 

On  a  very  hot  September  afternoon  we  arrived  at 
North  Camp  Station,  and  I  was  one  of  a  detachment  that 
walked  the  two  and  a  half  miles  to  Frimhurst  along  the 
pretty  Basingstoke  Canal,  past  Mitchett  lake,  scene  of  many 
future  boating  excursions.  My  father's  walking  powers 
were  certainly  unimpaired  at  that  time,  for  I  remember 
trotting  occasionally  in  order  to  keep  up  with  him  and 
wishing  he  would  not  walk  so  fast.  Dragonflies  were 
poising  and  darting  among  the  reeds.  I  had  never  seen 
any  before  and  thought  them  the  most  beautiful  things 
imaginable. 

The  entrance  to  the  grounds  may  have  played  a  part 
in  my  father's  decision  to  take  Frimhurst,  for  it  is  the  sort 

61 


62  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED        1867-72 

of  entrance  that  makes  an  owner  modest  about  the  rent. 
At  this  point  the  South- Western  Railway  passes  under  the 
canal,  and  for  about  twenty  yards  the  carriage  drive  is 
actually  a  bit  of  the  towing  path — on  the  one  side  the  low 
tunnel-parapet,  on  the  other  some  rickety  posts  and  rails 
fencing  the  canal,  so  that  you  are  between  the  devil  and 
the  deep  sea.  My  father,  who  had  an  eye  for  a  horse, 
generally  bought  quadrupeds  capable  of  dragging  a  heavy 
landau  full  of  people  to  Church  in  single  harness  ;  for  on 
Sundays  the  principle  was  cruelty  to  animals,  balanced  by 
kindness  to  the  stable  men,  who  thus  had  only  one  set  of 
harness  to  clean.  Our  horses  therefore  were  seldom  of  the 
well-bred  nervy  type,  but  often  young  and  imperfectly 
trained,  so  it  may  be  imagined  what  happened  when,  with  a 
sudden  roar,  a  train  dashed  out  of  the  tunnel  and  sent  a 
cloud  of  steam  swirling  into  their  faces.  I  only  once  saw 
actual  evidence  of  an  accident  myself,  an  Artillery  waggon 
and  pair  having  just  gone  through  the  posts  and  rails ; 
the  horses  were  calmly  standing  in  midstream  as  if  that 
had  been  their  original  destination,  waiting  for  the  driver 
to  return  with  help.  After  a  year  or  two,  in  deference  to 
my  mother's  entreaties,  the  height  of  the  parapet  was 
increased,  which  slightly  improved  matters. 

There  are  two  celebrated  incidents  connected  with  the 
tunnel,  the  first  being  such  an  amazing  example  of  human 
stupidity  that  is  almost  incredible,  but  I  witnessed  it  myself. 
Hearing  a  train  coming,  a  cousin  of  ours,  aged  about  twenty- 
five,  rushed  like  mad  to  the  spot,  stared  at  the  canal,  and 
then  said  in  tones  of  deep  disappointment :  '  Why,  they 
told  me  the  smoke  comes  up  through  the  water  ! !  ' 

The  second  incident  is  far  more  credible.  Not  long 
after  our  arrival  at  Frimhurst  Papa  got  a  letter  from  the 
Railway  Company,  saying  that  boys  were  in  the  habit 
of  hurling  stones  and  other  missiles  on  to  the  trains  from 
the  parapet,  a  large  piece  of  brick  having  recently  missed 
a  stoker's  head  by  a  hairbreadth  ;  and  that  as  it  was  on 
his  property  would  he  please  put  a  stop  to  the  nuisance. 
On  this  occasion  he  modified  his  views  regarding  the  methods 
of  the  police,  and  bade  a  constable  hide  behind  the  hedge 
and  watch.  One  day  the  man  came  up  to  the  house  and 


1867-72       THE  SMYTH  FAMILY  ROBINSON  63 

reported  he  had  identified  the  culprit.  '  Why  didn't  you 
bring  him  up  here  ?  '  said  my  father,  '  I'd  have  rubbed  his 
ears  for  him  and  told  his  mother  to  give  him  a  good  hiding/ 
'  Well  sir/  answered  the  constable,  '  it's  very  awkward, 
but  it's  one  of  your  young  ladies  ' ;  and  as  a  matter  of  fact 
I  was  the  culprit.  O  !  the  excitement  of  it,  the  preliminary 
piling  up  of  ammunition  and  dropping  of  one  trial  stone ; 
the  rumble  that  told  you  the  train  had  entered  the  tunnel ; 
the  quick  guess  at  its  pace,  and  the  chance,  supposing  you 
had  missed  the  tender,  that  something  might  yet  be  done 
with  the  final  guard's  van,  which  would  emerge  .  .  .  when  ? 
I  can  feel  the  thrill  of  it  now  ! 

At  the  other  end  of  our  property  was  another  railway 
bridge  called  '  Deepcut/  which  gives  an  idea  of  the  place. 
Like  my  father  I  always  encourage  friends'  and  relations' 
children  to  take  risks,  especially  if  they  are  cursed  with 
timorous  parents,  so  I  hope  it  is  not  too  conceited  to  say 
that  I  really  was  a  daring  little  girl  myself.  Nowadays  I 
often  bike  over  Deepcut  bridge,  and  not  for  less  than  £50 
would  I  do  to-day  what  I  often  did  then,  run  along  the 
parapet.  Let  me  confess  that  I  was  terrified,  just  as  in 
later  years  during  perilous  climbs  in  the  Alps ;  and  this  is 
the  fascination  of  both  performances. 

A  home  you  came  to  know  in  later  life  can  never  be  as 
poetical  a  memory  as  one  you  left  when  very  young  and 
never  saw  again.  Still  Frimhurst  was  an  attractive  place, 
a  far  bigger  and  better  house  than  Sidcup,  bounded  on 
one  side,  it  is  true,  by  the  deep  railway  cutting,  on  the 
banks  of  which  rabbit  ferreting  at  once  became  a  passion, 
but  on  the  other,  as  a  compensation,  is  a  really  picturesque 
section  of  the  old  canal,  out  of  which  opened  a  lake  owned 
by  a  neighbour,  where  we  fished  and  learned  to  skate. 
There  were  about  thirty-two  acres  of  grounds,  and  I  think 
the  pasturage  must  have  been  poor,  as  my  father  was  for 
ever  spreading  over  it  a  special  sort  of  manure  that  seemed 
to  consist  chiefly  of  brickbats,  sardine  tins,  and  old  boots. 
By  and  by,  when  the  golf  passion  surged  into  England, 
we  vamped  up  a  home  course,  and  this  strange  manure 
gave  trouble  playing  through  the  green,  lost  balls  being 
found  in  the  broken  base  of  blacking  bottles  and  other 


64  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED        1867-72 

difficult  places.  Near  the  canal  was  a  delightful  orchard ; 
one  tree  in  it,  a  white-heart  cherry-tree  with  spreading 
branches,  was  the  scene  of  many  of  my  climbing  feats  and 
Mary's  sentimental  trial-trips,  for  the  cherry-tree  was  the 
favourite  haunt  of  a  long  series  of  boy-lovers.  I  have  a 
tragic  vision  of  my  mother  in  that  orchard,  crying  as  if  her 
heart  would  break,  the  doctor  having  just  told  her  there 
was  but  a  slender  chance  of  rearing  Bob,  the  last  baby. 

Lower  down  the  canal  is  a  series  of  locks,  across  the 
gates  of  which  it  was  Johnny's  and  my  delight  to  run. 
Mary,  who  was  liable  to  sudden  giddiness,  joined  in  this 
amusement,  though  unwillingly,  and  had  a  system  of  letting 
herself  down  towards  the  centre  of  the  gates,  a  leg  on  each 
side,  and  shuffling  across,  which  was  unladylike  but  better 
than  drowning.  Nina,  who  also  had  a  bad  head,  would 
be  urged  onwards  by  a  hat  pin  applied  to  her  fat 
calves. 

Round  the  canal  many  memories  linger.  I  often  look 
now-a-days  at  a  '  flash '  near  our  entrance-lodge,  and 
think  about  children's  first  terrified  glimpses  of  Death  ; 
for  there  a  little  boy,  whom  we  noticed  wading  as  we  crossed 
the  bridge  one  day,  lost  his  footing,  and  was  carried  home 
a  corpse  to  his  mother  before  we  came  back  again  across 
the  bridge.  I  remember  Alice  telling  me  God  had  taken 
the  little  boy  to  Himself,  that  all  was  well  with  him,  and 
that  I  must  not  be  so  terror-stricken  and  miserable  about 
it.  ... 

My  father  always  said  what  finally  decided  him  to  take 
Frimhurst  was  the  fine  drawing-room  which  would  make 
'  such  a  nice  room  for  your  mother.'  It  certainly  was 
delightful  in  summer,  but  nowadays  would  hardly  be  con- 
sidered habitable  in  the  winter,  with  its  solitary  fireplace 
and  five  French  windows,  three  of  which  were  in  the  bow 
window  where  my  poor  mother  used  to  write  her  letters. 
Central  heating  was  then  unknown  in  England,  and  my 
father  would  have  considered  it  a  most  unhealthy  invention, 
but  I  am  certain  the  appalling  cold  of  that  room,  and  of 
her  big  bedroom  above  it,  must  have  been  still  more  un- 
healthy for  one  leading  a  sedentary  life.  Indeed  I  often 
wonder  whether  the  slowness  of  thought  that  characterises 


1867-72       THE  SMYTH  FAMILY  ROBINSON  65 

our  race  is  not  the  result  of  an  insane  objection  to  warm 
rooms,  ending  in  congealed  brain. 

The  schoolroom  was  in  the  oldest  part  of  the  house. 
The  windows,  sort  of  square  portholes,  to  see  out  of  which 
you  had  to  stand  up,  were  shuttered  at  night  by  sliding 
mirrors.  Running  under  them  horizontally  on  the  out- 
side wall  were  ivy  branches  as  thick  as  a  man's  arm,  the 
furry  coating  of  which  was  worn  to  the  bone  by  the 
boots  of  climbing  children.  All  our  many  governesses 
resembled  each  other  in  one  particular  ;  that  when  reading 
after  supper  on  summer's  evenings  they  would  see  ghostly 
heads  peeping  in  at  the  portholes,  shoot  the  shutters 
with  a  bang,  and  rush  into  the  passage  screaming 
'  burglars/ 

This  room  was  the  only  one  with  charm  in  an  otherwise 
commonplace  but  very  comfortable  house. 

It  was  in  the  year  following  our  arrival  at  Frimhurst 
that  Bob,  the  boy  who  was  to  console  my  mother  for  the 
coming  loss  of  Johnny,  was  born.  He  was  a  very  quiet 
delicate  child,  and  according  to  a  family  legend  never  spoke 
till  the  day  he  was  sitting  under  the  table,  clipping  the 
cat's  fur  with  a  pair  of  scissors,  and  told  to  desist ;  where- 
upon he  suddenly  burst  into  speech  with  the  remark  *  All 
the  cats  in  the  wairld  aren't  yours ! '  and  never  ceased 
talking  afterwards.  It  is  odd  that  all  I  can  remember  of 
the  two  youngest  children  in  their  extreme  youth  is  this 
legend,  and  a  riddle  asked  by  Nelly  :  '  If  a  new-laid  egg 
could  speak  what  jam  would  it  mention  ? '  Answer : 
*  Ma-laid-me.'  (Mar-me-lade.) 

Johnny  was  now  a  Westminster  boy.  My  father's 
youngest  sister  had  married  Dr.  Charles  Scott  who  at  this 
time  was  Head  Master  of  Westminster,  and  Mary  and  I 
sometimes  spent  the  night  at  their  house  in  Dean's  Yard. 
From  our  window  we  had  a  grand  view  of  the  boys  playing 
racquets  against  the  schoolhouse  wall,  or  flying  into  school 
in  their  trenchers ;  and  occasionally  we  caught  sight  of 
my  uncle,  in  cap  and  gown,  sweeping  across  the  school  yard, 
always  in  a  violent  hurry.  It  was  understood  that  if  we 
met  Johnny  in  the  cloisters  or  any  other  part  of  the  dear 

VOL.  I.  F 


66  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED        1867-72 

old  buildings  we  must  make  no  sign  of  recognition  and 
expect  to  be  cut.  We  were. 

This  childless  uncle  and  aunt  always  spent  Christmas 
with  us,  hardly  a  comfortable  arrangement  I  should  think 
for  Johnny ;  but  he  was  a  more  than  satisfactory  pupil, 
and  my  cold,  stately,  alarming  aunt  worshipped  him — as  I 
remember  suddenly  realising  when,  in  a  letter  she  wrote 
my  mother  after  his  death,  I  read  the  words  :  '  He  was 
the  apple  of  my  eye/  Of  my  uncle  we  were  terrified  in 
our  early  days.  He  was  really  one  of  the  dearest,  warmest- 
hearted  of  men  but  every  inch  a  schoolmaster,  and  I  never 
knew  anyone  who  suffered  fools  less  gladly.  His  severe 
manner,  intolerance  of  contradiction,  and  general  dictatorial- 
ness,  amounting  I  fear  to  quarrelsomeness,  were  supposed 
to  stand  in  his  way  when  Bishops  were  being  nominated ; 
but  aloofness  from  intrigue  and  time-serving  probably 
hampered  him  still  more.  He  always  preached  the 
Christmas  sermon  in  Frimley  Church,  which  was  looked 
forward  to  as  a  great  intellectual  treat  by  the  congregation. 

On  Christmas  Day  we  children  came  down  to  dinner, 
and  after  snapdragons  and  punch,  grown-ups  and  all  played 
round  games,  generally  '  commerce/  When  my  father 
began  explaining  what  card  one  ought  to  have  played, 
Uncle  Charles  would  say  in  his  high-pitched,  querulous 
voice :  '  Now  John,  do  let  an  old  schoolmaster  make  the 
matter  clear  to  the  child/  and  proceed  to  do  this  in  a  manner 
so  involved,  that  my  mother,  whom  he  was  very  fond  of, 
once  exclaimed :  '  Really  Charles,  I  don't  know  if  you 
understand  your  own  explanations,  but  no  one  else  can/ 
She  was  more  than  free  and  unabashed  with  this  alarming 
personality,  a  freedom  which  filled  us  with  the  same  awe 

as  did  the  ways  of  Colonel  O'H with  Papa.  One  day, 

driving  with  him  through  Aldershot,  he  dozing  on  the 
opposite  seat,  she  poked  him  hard  with  her  parasol  and 
said  :  '  Do  wake  up  :  they'll  think  I  am  driving  through 
the  camp  with  a  tipsy  clergyman/  I  remember  once,  in 
one  of  those  silences  that  sometimes  fall  on  a  large  party, 
asking  quite  innocently  :  '  What  is  a  pedagogue  ?  '  Result ; 
still  deader  silence,  and  then  everyone  laughed  rather 
nervously. 


1867-72       THE  SMYTH  FAMILY  ROBINSON  67 

Daily  as  the  clock  struck  twelve  these  two  would  sally 
forth  on  a  constitutional  up  the  Windmill  Hill  just  outside 
our  gates,  and  afford  a  spectacle  rare,  I  think,  in  England, 
but  which  may  be  enjoyed  on  Sundays  throughout  the 
whole  German  Empire  ;  that  is  he  always  stalked  along  a 
good  ten  yards  in  front  of  his  wife.  Thus  they  started,  and 
thus  they  returned  at  12.45,  and  while  kicking  off  his 
goloshes  in  the  porch  he  would  hold  the  door  open  and  say 
impatiently  :  '  Come  along  Susan '  (with  a  slight  accent 
on  the  second  syllable)  and  she  would  give  a  little  nervous 
giggle  to  which  she  was  subject,  but  not  hurry  in  the  very 
least.  This  was  the  invariable  ritual.  When  their  visit  was 
concluded,  a  fly  and  pair  was  heaped  up  with  maid  and 
luggage  and  they  started  on  a  ten-mile  drive  across  Fox 
Hills  and  the  Hog's  Back,  along  a  beautiful  road  since  closed 
to  all  but  the  military,  to  pay  Christmas  visit  Number  2 
to  another  cousin  of  his,  Lord  Midleton.  For  some  time 
afterwards  Peper  Harow  rang,  as  did  Frimhurst,  with 
anecdotes  about  what  Uncle  Charles  said  to"  the  lodge- 
keeper  who  hoped  he  was  quite  well,  or  to  the  rash  lady 
who  asked  if  schoolmastering  was  not  a  very  interesting 
task  ?  When  he  was  about  to  annihilate  somebody  he 
would  begin  with  an  impatient,  almost  larmoyant,  '  My 
dear  Sir '  or  '  Madam/  which  caused  a  hush  to  fall  upon 
the  assembly,  sportsman,  lover,  or  bore  breaking  off  his 
tale  to  be  in  at  the  death.  I  don't  think  he  was  a  popular 
Head  Master,  though  greatly  respected  ;  but  only  in  private 
life  did  you  get  to  know  the  real  man. 

Once,  many  years  after  the  time  I  am  speaking  of,  a 
tragedy  happened  on  that  bit  of  closed  country  on  the  Fox 
Hills.  There  are  rifle  butts  up  there,  and  one  foggy  day 
hounds  ran  into  the  danger  zone.  Suddenly  realising 
where  he  was  the  Master  began  blowing  his  horn  frantically, 
and  while  one  of  our  Frimley  neighbours  was  saying  to  her 
son :  '  I  wonder  what  that's  for  ?  '  the  boy  fell  from  his 
horse  dead  at  her  feet,  a  stray  bullet  having  passed  through 
his  brain. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

1867   TO    1872 

LIFE  at  Frimhurst  up  to  the  time  I  came  out  falls  into 
two  periods,  the  governess  and  the  school  epochs.  Our 
governesses  never  stayed  long  ;  they  pass  before  my  mind's 
eye  in  dreary  procession  ;  some  English,  others  German  ; 
some  with  dyspepsia,  others  with  unfortunate  natures, 
—perhaps  the  same  thing  under  different  names  ;  nearly 
always  ugly,  and  quite  invariably  without  the  faintest 
notion  of  making  lessons  either  pleasant  or  profitable. 
Certainly  we  were  difficult  pupils,  naughty  and  refractory 
to  discipline,  still  we  were  quite  intelligent  children,  and 
later  on  Mary  and  I  learned  something  at  school ;  but 
excepting  one,  who  without  intending  it  determined  my 
course  in  life,  our  governesses  might  have  been  lay-figures 
for  all  we  got  out  of  them.  I  think  the  whole  governess 
system  monstrous  and  unworkable  ;  even  as  a  child  I 
vaguely  understood  how  impossible  is  the  position  of  these 
poor  unwilling  intruders  into  the  family  circle,  and  hope 
time  will  evolve  some  more  civilised  scheme  of  education 
for  '  the  daughters  of  the  nobility  and  gentry/  On  the 
other  hand  our  governesses  were  specimens  of  humanity 
few  families,  however  kind-hearted,  could  assimilate. 

I  have  said  I  was  subject  to  '  passions  '  as  I  called  them, 
and  about  this  time  drew  up  a  list  of  over  a  hundred  girls 
and  women  to  whom,  had  I  been  a  man,  I  should  have 
proposed  ;  it  is  therefore  no  great  tribute  to  the  charms 
of  Miss  Hammond,  the  first  governess  I  remember,  that  her 
name  figured  on  the  list  of  passions.  She  was  young,  rather 
pretty,  and  wore  a  chignon  which  she  told  us  was  her  own 
hair.  Perhaps  she  meant  in  the  sense  that  she  had  paid 

68 


1867-72       THE  SMYTH  FAMILY  ROBINSON  69 

for  it,  for  alas  !  one  day  she  slipped  up  on  the  ice  and 
away  rolled  the  chignon  like  the  heart  in  Richepin's  terrify- 
ing ballad,  but  without  asking  its  owner  if  she  had  hurt 
herself.  I  said  nothing  ;  one  is  too  paralysed  by  dreadful 
emotion  to  speak  at  such  moments,  but  then  and  there 
my  passion  expired. 

And  now  comes  the  recital  of  one  of  the  ugliest  things 
I  ever  did.  A  few  months  later  Miss  Hammond  departed 
for  good  in  the  same  low  pony-chaise  with  which  these 
records  begin  .  .  .  and  as  it  sped  down  the  drive  I  clung 
on  to  the  back,  hissed  in  her  ear  :  '  I  know  your  chignon 
is  false  !  '  and  dropped  off.  I  was  quite  aware  that  my 
action  was  hateful,  but  it  is  not  till  old  age  is  in  sight  that 
sincerity-mad  people  can  quietly  let  a  deceiver  think  his 
deception  has  been  a  success. 

H.  B.,  the  great  friend  of  my  maturer  years,  and  the 
wisest  man  I  ever  knew,  had  agreeable  views  on  the  subject 
of  making  up  ;  he  said  it  predisposed  him  in  a  person's 
favour,  as  showing  a  wish  to  please.  I  quite  see  this  point 
of  view,  but  it  is  not  mine,  and  in  my  youth  I  felt  about  it 
so  violently  that  I  remember  telling  my  mother,  who  was 
demonstrative  and  craved  for  demonstration,  that  I  should 
kiss  her  much  oftener  but  for  her  '  powder  and  things/ 
'  Things  '  stood  for  the  very  moderate  amount  of  rouge 
and  kohl  with  which,  as  I  said,  she  repaired  the  ravages 
of  time,  and  I  am  glad  to  say  my  remark  produced  not 
the  slightest  change  in  this  innocent  habit. 

One  of  Miss  Hammond's  successors  presented  my  mother 
with  the  most  astonishing  specimen  of  German  ingenuity 
I  have  ever  seen,  except  perhaps  similar  souvenirs  fabricated 
by  the  Grand  Dukes  and  Duchesses  who  clustered  round 
Goethe  in  his  country  retreat,  and  deigned  to  live  the 
simple  life  there.  This  treasure  is  made  of  thin  wire,  small 
black  beads,  and  eight  locks  cut  from  the  eight  heads  of 
the  Smyth  children,  and  represents  a  bunch  of  blackberries, 
the  berries  being  made  of  beads,  and  the  leaves — how  she 
did  it  I  cannot  think — of  hair.  There  were  all  shades 
in  our  family,  from  black  to  flaxen,  but  though  the  leaves 
are  still  shapely  and  tidy,  age  and  dust  have  wrought 
them  all  to  the  same  dull  hue.  By  immemorial  custom 


7o  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED        1867-72 

this  strange  object  has  lived  under  a  glass  shade,  stuck 
into  one  of  Prince  Charlie's  goblets,  and  there  it  is,  con- 
fronting me  at  this  moment. 

During  the  Franco-Prussian  war,  when  we  had  a  rather 
feeble-minded  German  governess,  we  used  to  rush  in  to  her 
first  thing  in  the  morning  announcing  imaginary  German 
defeats — and  the  poor  governesses  never  saw  the  papers 
till  evening  !  We  were  too  young  to  have  any  bias  one 
way  or  the  other,  though  my  mother  of  course  was  all  for 
the  French  ;  it  was  just  the  ferocious  playfulness  of  youth. 
The  world  is  now  accustomed  to  the  sanctimonious  tone 
of  the  Hohenzollern  telegrams,  but  then  it  was  a  novelty 
and  caused  much  astonishment.  There  was  a  paraphrase 
by  Mr.  Punch  of  one  of  the  King  of  Prussia's  effusions  to 
his  Queen  which  delighted  Papa : 

By  Heaven's  will,  my  dear  Augusta 
We've  had  another  awful  buster, 
Ten  thousand  Frenchmen  gone  below  ! 
Praise  God  from  Whom  all  blessings  flow  ! 

By  such  trivial  incidents  do  great  contemporary  events 
hook  themselves  into  the  memory  of  a  child.  Except  the 
fact  that  we  all  picked  lint,  these  are  my  only  recollections 
connected  with  a  war  of  which  the  whole  world  has  not 
yet  finished  reaping  the  harvest !  .  .  . 

Besides  the  catalogue  of  '  passions '  I  drew  up  a  paper 
I  would  give  anything  to  study  to-day — a  list  of  things  to  be 
avoided  when  one  should  be  grown  up.  One  was  '  never 
tell  people  what  your  parents  used  to  say/  my  mother 
having  a  way  of  quoting,  for  our  benefit,  axioms  used  against 
her  in  her  childhood  by  her  own  mother,  which  made  us 
think  Bonnemaman  must  have  been  a  most  disagreeable 
person.  Apart  from  this,  one  noticed  that  the  words 
'  As  my  father  used  to  say  '  strike  a  chill  at  all  times  and 
in  all  places.  There  was  another  golden  rule  I  have  since 
broken  only  too  often,  alas  !  never  to  speak  of  one's  digestion 
(unless  to  the  doctor,  who,  as  Lady  Constance  Leslie  once 
remarked,  is  paid  to  put  up  with  that  style  of  conversation). 
This  rule  came  on  to  the  list  because  of  an  objectionable 


1867-72       THE  SMYTH  FAMILY]  ROBINSON  71 

habit  one  of  our  governesses  had,  of  extending  herself 
after  lunch  in  an  armchair,  her  legs  stuck  out  stiffly,  and 
many  cushions  rammed  into  her  back — her  body  being 
thus  in  a  straight  line  at  an  angle  of  45°  to  the  floor,  which 
posture  she  considered  favourable  to  digestion.  People 
who  remember  their  childhood  will  guess  how  fiercely  we 
resented  this  spectacle. 

Under  the  eye  of  successive  governesses  we  painfully 
translated  into  French  and  German  stories  such  as  George 
Washington  saying  :  '  Father,  I  cannot  tell  a  lie,  /  cut 
down  that  apple  tree  !  '  or  Newton  wagging  his  head 
at  the  dog  that  had  just  devoured  his  astronomical  notes 
and  merely  remarking  :  '  O  Diamond,  Diamond,  you  do 
not  know  what  mischief  you  have  done  !  '  (which  shows  he 
was  not  fit  to  keep  a  dog).  These  two  odious  anecdotes 
might  well  implant  in  childish  bosoms  a  life-long  aversion 
to  the  qualities  of  truthfulness  and  self-command.  In 
short  we  pursued  the  usual  course  of  instruction  in  the 
usual  manner.  But  one  thing  I  will  say :  from  Mrs. 
Markham's  '  History  of  England/  a  book  recently  re-read 
with  delight,  I  learned  all  the  history  I  knew  till  the 
day  dawned  for  loving  Shakespere,  and  consider  these 
two  together  can  defy  the  Universe  as  quickeners  of  an 
historical  sense  in  the  young. 

Between  lesson  hours,  and  of  course  in  the  holidays, 
we  had  heaps  of  fun.  Our  end  of  Frimley  consisted  of  a 
few  houses  grouped  about  a  village  green,  and  if  I  were  to  be 
asked  who  looms  largest  in  my  mind  during  those  years 
I  should  unhesitatingly  say  :  '  Mrs.  Hall  of  the  tin-shop/ 
the  unforgettable  owner  of  a  rural  emporium  where  every- 
thing from  sweets  to  carpets  could  be  got.  Shrewd,  good- 
looking,  quick-tempered,  as  full  of  kindness  as  of  mother- 
wit,  and  a  mistress  of  lightning  repartee,  this  true  descendant 
of  Mrs.  Poyser  ruled  her  husband  and  four  big  sons,  mostly 
farm  labourers,  with  a  rod  of  iron,  and  spoiled  us  children 
to  our  hearts'  content.  Heaven  only  knows  what  amount 
of  sweets  she  gave  away  in  overweight.  There  too  I  bought 
the  penny  whistles  to  which  we  danced  Sir  Roger  de  Coverley 
on  the  ice — for  our  skating  days  had  now  dawned — 
and  let  me  say  that  to  dance  on  skates  and  play  that 


72  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED        1867-72 

particularly  breathless  tune  at  the  same  time  is  one  of  the 
most  exhausting  feats  in  the  world. 

The  village  boasted  an  annual  fair,  long  since  gone 
the  way  of  most  country  fairs,  and  great  fun  we  found  it ; 
but  the  appearance  presented  by  the  Green  after  the  merry- 
go-rounds  and  cocoa-nut  shies  were  gone,  left  me  with  so 
disagreeable  an  impression  as  almost  to  put  me  off  the 
fair  itself — on  which  theme,  if  one  were  a  poet  and  classical 
scholar,  a  neat  Latin  Ode  might  be  written. 

We  always  had  one,  sometimes  two  donkeys ;  the 
other  day  a  grey-headed  man  in  Frimley  told  me  he  re- 
membered, as  school-boy,  my  riding  into  the  village  school 
right  among  the  children,  mounted  on  a  black  donkey. 
One  of  my  most  cherished  possessions  is  the  accompanying 
sketch,  already  referred  to,  by  our  cousin  Hugo  of  a  drive 
in  the  donkey  cart — a  sketch  which  incidentally  shows 
that  structural  differences  in  Mary's  and  my  character, 
though  concealed  by  the  childish  plumpness  of  our  moral 
outline,  did  not  escape  this  shrewd  observer's  eye.  Calm 
and  unmoved,  neatly  shod  in  the  drab  boots  with  shiny 
toes  I  remember  so  well,  her  profile  indicates  the  total 
detachment  of  a  young  lady  out  for  an  airing.  That  picture 
has  special  mention  in  my  Will. 

Sometimes  we  raised,  I  cannot  think  how,  a  team  of 
four,  and  the  harness-room  was  raided  for  reins  and  traces  ; 
this  four-in-hand  was  a  grand  thing  to  talk  about  but  not 
really  a  success,  for  one  had  to  crawl  along  the  backs  of 
the  wheelers  in  order  to  thump  the  leaders  with  the  butt 
end  of  the  whip.  I  cannot  recall  either  Johnny  or  Mary 
taking  the  initiative  in  these  donkey  affairs,  and  Nina, 
whose  subsequent  adventures  would  fill  tomes,  was  not 
then  old  enough  to  join  in  ours.  In  fact  all  I  can  remember 
about  her  at  that  period  was  her  approaching  Violet  one 
day,  obviously  uneasy  in  her  mind,  and  saying  she  had 
something  '  very  funny-'  to  show  her  in  the  rosery.  It 
turned  out  to  be  two  expiring  frogs  which  she  had  impaled ; 
...  the  hour  of  confession  had  struck  ! 

Frimley  Church  was  two  miles  off,  a  modern  building, 
monument  of  some  architect's  whole-hearted  devotion  to 
hideousness,  the  only  sympathetic  feature  being  an  old- 


i867-72       THE  SMYTH  FAMILY  ROBINSON  73 

fashioned  three-decker  pulpit,  but  even  that  was  of  deal 
and  relatively  new.  At  each  Church  Festival  the  donkey 
cart  was  piled  up  with  whatever  might  be  the  appropriate 
fruits  of  nature,  and  off  we  started  to  decorate  the  Church, 
the  great  point  being  lunch  with  a  kind  old  neighbour  close 
by.  I  have  said  that  as  a  tiny  child  I  was  terrified  of 
churchyards,  but  at  this  time  they  must  have  had  a  morbid 
attraction,  or  perhaps  it  was  under  the  influence  of '  Hamlet ' 
that  I  loved  to  watch  the  sexton  at  work  and  '  think  of 
graves  and  worms  and  epitaphs '  as  the  young  will — and 
as  the  old  won't.  It  may  be  remembered  too,  that  in  order 
to  increase  the  agony  of  love  I  would  cheerfully  consign 
my  '  passions '  to  an  early  grave,  but  as  regards  myself 
terrors  of  Death  haunted  me  throughout  my  youth,  and  it 
was  perhaps  with  some  vague  idea  of  conjuring  the  spectre 
that  I  persuaded  the  sexton  to  give  me  a  human  bone, 
which  I  hid  among  my  collars  and  handkerchiefs.  But 
this  relic  left  me  no  peace,  for  I  knew  its  possession  was 
sacrilegious,  and  at  last  in  floods  of  tears  confessed  all  to 
my  mother.  I  think  she  was  a  good  deal  taken  aback, 
but  explained  quite  gently  that  it  would  never  do,  when 
the  Day  of  Judgment  comes,  for  people's  limbs  to  be 
scattered  about  in  different  places.  Evidently  she  had 
never  read,  or  did  not  go  with,  a  work  called  '  The  Last 
Day/  from  which  Mr.  Gosse  quotes,  in  his  book  '  Father  and 
Son/  the  following  remarkable  verse  : 

Now  charnels  rattle,  scattered  limbs,  and  all 
The  various  bones,  obsequious  to  the  call, 
Self-mov'd  advance — the  neck  perhaps  to  meet 
The  distant  head,  the  distant  legs  the  feet. 

Meanwhile  she  undertook  to  have  the  bone  put  back 
in  the  place  it  came  from,  and  later  informed  me  that 
all  was  well,  the  sexton  having  assured  her  it  was  a 
sheep's  bone,  and  that  he  never  would  have  dreamed  of 
giving  me  human  remains.  I  often  wonder  if  this  was  a 
legend  invented  by  her  to  soothe  my  inflamed  and  suffering 
imagination,  or  whether  the  sexton,  afraid  of  getting  into 
trouble,  really  hazarded  this  improbable  yarn. 


74  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED        1867-72 

I  call  him  the  sexton,  but  he  was  only  an  understudy, 
the  real  one  being  ninety-six  and  long  past  grave-digging, 
but  to  the  end  he  stuck  to  his  post  of  clerk.  Seated  in  the 
lowest  box  of  the  three  decker,  his  gold-rimmed  spectacles 
poised  on  the  very  tip  of  his  nose,  his  old  forefinger  travelling 
across  the  pages  of  a  huge  prayer-book  as  smoothly  as  the 
hands  of  a  clock,  he  would  bleat  out  an  amazing  long 
'  A-ma-a-a-a-n '  that  would  throw  rapid  performers  like 
Uncle  Charles  out  of  their  stride.  People  used  to  come  from 
neighbouring  parishes  to  hear  old  Mr.  Weston  say  '  Amen/ 

A  fantastic  scene,  which  no  one  who  saw  it  can  ever 
have  forgotten,  once  took  place  in  the  three-decker.  As 
I  said,  my  uncle  always  preached  on  Christmas  morning, 
but  one  Christmas  there  was  another  clerical  star  staying 
in  the  parish,  who  had  been  asked  to  take  the  service,  and 
understood  he  was  also  to  oblige  with  a  sermon.  He  had 
duly  read  the  Prayers  from  the  middle  box,  and  had  just 
opened  the  door,  preparatory  to  climbing  up  into  the  highest 
or  preacher's  box,  when  my  uncle,  who  had  been  sitting  robed 
within  the  Altar  rails,  came  sweeping  along  at  his  usual 
rushing  pace  and  also  made  for  the  top  box.  They  met 
on  the  narrow  staircase,  each  with  a  tightly  rolled  manu- 
script in  his  hand,  and  a  rather  heated  altercation  took 
place,  neither  being  of  the  nature  that  gives  way.  What 
with  the  shape  of  the  three-decker,  and  the  baton-like 
appearance  of  the  manuscripts,  there  was  more  than  a 
slight  suggestion  of  Mr.  Punch  and  the  policeman.  I 
cannot  remember  who  won  the  day,  though  I  feel  sure  it 
must  have  been  my  uncle,  but  the  aged  clerk,  cross- 
questioned  about  this  scandalous  incident,  said  he  really 
didn't  know  what  to  make  of  it ;  and  it  probably  was  too 
much  for  him,  for  he  died  soon  afterwards. 

In  the  summer  there  were  picnics  on  the  canal,  and 
plenty  of  canoeing  though  none  of  us  could  swim.  I  re- 
member seeing  a  black  thing  crawling  out  of  the  water 
in  our  wake  which  we  all  thought  was  the  retriever,  but  it 
turned  out  to  be  Nina  smothered  in  canal  mud.  Not  long 
after  our  arrival  at  Frimhurst,  lawn  tennis,  preceded  by 
badminton,  became  the  fashion,  and  I  think  for  a  time 
everything  was  dropped  for  that.  We  no  longer  built  but 
bought  racing  craft,  without  neglecting  other  carpentering. 


i867-72       THE  SMYTH  FAMILY  ROBINSON  75 

I  know  I  was  a  better  hand  at  it  than   either   Johnny 

or   Maunsell  B .     My  three-legged   stools   and  tables 

may  have  been  less  ambitious  than  theirs  but  they  neither 
wobbled  nor  broke  down,  and  started  in  me  at  an  early  age 
the  complete  confidence  I  was  to  feel  later  in  woman  as 
co-architect  of  the  State. 

In  the  winter  there  were  entertainments  at  the  schools 
on  whatever  Saturday  in  the  month  had  most  moon.  At 
one  of  these  I  made  my  first  public  appearance,  singing 
duets  at  the  age  of  eleven  with  Mary,  aged  thirteen,  and 
mother  accompanied  us  in  order  to  give  my  voice  a  better 
chance.  Papa  was  nearly  always  on  the  programme, 
reading  poems  such  as  '  The  Raven,'  *  We  are  Seven/  and 
extracts  from  '  The  Siege  of  Corinth/  which  the  modern 
rustic  mind,  fed  on  cheap  novelettes  and  cinema,  would 
not  stand  for  a  moment,  but  I  think  they  liked  it  then. 
Other  neighbouring  gentry  contributed  items  and  passing 
talent  was  enlisted.  I  remember  an  enormously  stout  bird 
of  passage  who  had  a  habit  cultivated  by  many  more  famous 
contralti  of  *  singing  like  a  man  '  as  I  called  it,  and  in  this 
deep  chest  voice  she  used  to  give  us  a  song  much  in  vogue 
called  '  The  Diver/  In  case  this  work  has  vanished  from 
the  market,  I  cannot  help  quoting  the  music  of  the  refrain, 
surely  more  realistic  and  funny  than  most  things  on  earth. 


(very  slowly}  ri  -  tar  -  dan  -  do 


Walk  -ing  a  -  lone,   walk  -ing    a  -  lone,    walk  -ing     a  -lone  in   the  depths  of  the  sea  I 


We  sometimes  met  revellers  on  the  walk  home,  and  tactical 
manoeuvres  were  necessary  to  avoid  them.  Once  a  local 
patriarch  remarked,  as  he  saluted  us  unsteadily,  that  really 
the  General  ought  to  get  the  hedges  cut  back. 

My  first  violent  religious  impression  falls  in  the  early 
days  of  our  Frimhurst  life,  when  we  were  taken  by  an 
Evangelical  cousin  to  a  bazaar  at  Aldershot  for  the  benefit 
of  soldiers'  orphans,  got  up  by  Miss  Daniel,  forerunner  of 
the  Y.M.C.A.  ;  after  which  there  was  to  be  an  address  by 
Lord  Radstock.  We  had  never  been  to  a  bazaar  before 
and  passionately  hated  it.  Late  in  the  afternoon  I 


76  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED        1867-72 

remember  Miss  Daniel  saying  :  '  Now  you  will  hear  something 
better  than  bazaars/  and  presently  a  dislike  of  Low  Church, 
conceived  in  contact  with  our  cousin,  became  loathing 
under  the  influence  of  Lord  Radstock's  manner,  expressions, 
voice,  and  puffy,  white-maggot-like  physique.  I  am  sure 
he  was  a  good  man,  but  he  made  us  hate  religion  for  the 
time  being. 

Another  early  Aldershot  recollection  is  Mary  and  me 
being  taken  to  sing  at  an  R.A.  entertainment,  when  an 
appropriate  variant  of  my  father's  usual  peroration  came 
out  with  tremendous  emphasis  as  addressed  to  a  military 
audience.  Our  coachman,  an  ex-Artilleryman,  was  in  a 
terrible  way  lest  we  should  not  do  ourselves  justice,  ex- 
horting us  to  hold  our  heads  well  up,  and  not  hide  our  faces 
with  the  music.  '  Remember,  Miss  Mary/  he  said,  '  it's 
the  hattitude  as  does  it/  We  bore  George  Taylor's  advice 
in  mind,  and  on  musical  occasions  in  later  life  one  could  not 
desire  a  more  gratifying  reception  than  the  Colonel's  little 
girls  met  with. 

As  a  printed  contemporary  notice  lends  relief  to  very 
trivial  incidents,  I  give  an  extract  from  Sheldrake's 
Gazette  (still  the  leading  Aldershot  journal)  which  I 
found  among  old  papers. 

On  this  occasion  the  Colonel's  two  fair  daughters 
appeared  upon  the  platform  to  sing  a  duet,  and  the  applause 
with  which  they  were  greeted  was  indescribable.  Each 
possessing  a  sweet  voice,  the  effect  was  exceedingly  telling, 
the  duet  being  so  exquisitely  rendered  that  an  enthusiastic 
encore  was  called  for.  Mrs.  Smyth  accompanied  her 
daughters  in  the  first  duet,  and  in  the  second  the  younger 
of  the  two  fair  sisters  presided  at  the  piano.  This  was  the 
first  appearance  of  ladies  on  the  platform  in  this  room, 
and  that  their  noble  example  may  be  followed  is  the  earnest 
wish  of  all  who  take  delight  in  these  excellent  entertain- 
ments ;  for  assuredly  nothing  is  more  likely  to  tend  to  their 
success  than  the  offer  of  the  services  of  ladies  who  possess 
musical  talent,  and  are  willing  to  contribute  to  the  enter- 
tainment of  the  soldier  during  the  winter  months. 

Before  reading  the  piece  he  had  selected  for  Tuesday 
evening  ('  The  Death  of  Montrose ')  the  noble  Colonel, 
addressing  his  men,  said, — and  he  spoke  with  an  earnestness 


1867-72       THE  SMYTH  FAMILY  ROBINSON  77 

that  must  have  made  itself  felt  in  the  breasts  of  every  one 
of  them  :  '  I  read  these  selections  to  you,  my  men,  because 
they  treat  of  noble  lives,  and  in  the  hope  that  they  may 
be  incentives  to  you  in  the  path  of  duty.  I  wish  to  impress 
upon  you  that  it  is  expected  of  us  at  every  time,  and  in 
every  clime,  whether  amidst  frost  and  snow,  or  pestilential 
famine  and  disease,  to  endure  without  murmuring  hard- 
ships of  every  kind.  Let  me  also  impress  upon  you  strongly 
that  when  required  to  face  death  we  should  do  so  without 
fear,  but  in  hope  of  mercy  and  forgiveness,  and  be  ever 
ready  to  lay  down  our  lives  for  our  Queen,  our  country,  and 
our  God/  I  can  hardly  describe  the  enthusiasm  with 
which  these  few  words  were  met,  and  can  attribute  it  to 
no  other  cause  than  the  high  confidence  and  esteem  placed 
in  their  Colonel,  and  the  love  of  their  country  which  exists 
in  the  breast  of  the  British  soldier. 

This  encomium  is  no  great  compliment  to  the  '  few  words  ' 
themselves,  but  one  mustn't  split  straws. 

Of  one  personality  frequently  met  with  during  the 
Christmas  holidays  at  children's  parties  I  have  an  inefface- 
able recollection,  the  Conjuror — a  round,  bright-eyed  little 
old  man  with  a  shock  of  grey  curly  hair,  who  never  ceased 
entreating  us  to  watch  him  closely  ;  '  Now  don't  take  your 
eyes  off  me,  my  little  dears,'  he  would  say  ;  '  it's  while  I'm  a 
talking  to  you  that  I'm  a  deceiving  of  you ' — a  phrase  that  was 
adopted  by  the  family.  At  one  time  he  nearly  died,  and 
when  able  to  resume  business  he  remarked  to  my  mother, 
pointing  to  his  fat  helpmate  :  '  When  I  was  bad  I  used  to 
say  to  'er,  "  You  may  get  another  'usband,  my  dear,  but 
you  won't  get  another  conjuror." 

For  my  part,  as  soon  as  I  realised  I  should  never  guess 
how  these  tricks  are  done,  conjuring  rather  exasperated 
me,  my  feeling  then  as  now  being,  what's  the  fun  of  not 
understanding  ?  Or  again,  why  crack  your  brain  about 
something  you  know  is  really  quite  simple  ?  For  which 
reason  I  am  never  tempted  by  the  later  works  of  Mr.  Henry 
James.  Montaigne  was  of  the  same  way  of  thinking,  and 
says  somewhere  that  when  he  comes  to  an  obscure  para- 
graph he  makes  one  or  two  '  charges '  at  it,  and  then,  if 
the  meaning  still  eludes  him,  throws  away  that  book  for 
good  and  all. 


CHAPTER   IX 

1867  TO   1872 

NOT  long  after  our  arrival  at  Frimhurst,  Alice  was  presented 
and  came  out.  There  were  five  years  between  her  and 
Mary,  and  since,  as  I  said,  there  were  four  between  Nina 
and  me,  Mary  and  I  were  in  a  schoolroom  group  by  our- 
selves. For  this  reason  I  can  remember  nothing  about 
Alice's  proceedings,  with  one  momentous  exception — her 
first  proposal,  or  anyhow  the  first  at  which  we,  so  to  speak, 
assisted.  There  was  a  certain  young  soldier  with  very 
pink  cheeks  and  a  strange  habit  of  wearing  velveteen  coats 
— an  assiduous  visitor  whose  attentions  became  marked. 
One  day  we  saw  him  leaving  the  house  in  evident  agitation, 
and  when,  with  the  tact  of  younger  sisters,  we  instantly 
rushed  into  the  drawing-room,  lo  !  there  was  Alice,  sup- 
ported by  mother,  being  plied  with  smelling-salts !  In 
Jane  Austen's  day  this  was  the  correct  attitude  for  a  girl 
of  sensibility  on  tender  occasions,  and  to  that  epoch  Alice 
belonged  by  education  and  temperament ;  but  Mary  and 
I  were  early  samples  of  the  coming  generation  and  poor 
Alice  never  heard  the  last  of  that  touching  tableau.  She 
declares  to  this  day  it  was  a  figment  of  our  imaginations, 
but  it  was  not,  and  I  am  glad  to  have  seen  this  sort  of  thing 
with  my  own  eyes,  for  we  shall  never  see  it  again. 

Whether  forerunners  or  not,  Mary  and  I  were  still  con- 
sidered very  quaint  children,  as  in  the  Sidcup  days,  and 
were  infuriated  by  a  strange  young  lady  who  called  to  her 
brother  through  the  window  :  '  O  Lionel,  do  come  in  and 
hear  these  funny  children  talk/  whereupon  we  of  course 
fell  silent,  as  self-respecting  children  would.  Neither  of 
us  was  in  the  least  shy,  but  when  in  the  presence  of  one  of 
my  '  passions,'  I  was  liable,  under  the  stress  of  emotion,  to 

78 


i867-72         THE  SMYTH  FAMILY  ROBINSON  79 

extraordinary  contortions  ;  such  as  standing  on  the  outside 
of  my  feet,  swaying  to  and  fro,  brushing  the  palm  of  one 
hand  violently  against  the  other  in  mid-air,  as  if  one  were 
flint  and  the  other  steel — antics  that  Mary,  who  knew  the 
cause,  eyed  with  scornful  astonishment. 

It  is  to  be  hoped,  more  especially  as  these  Memoirs 
are  pointedly  dedicated  to  people  with  sense  of  humour, 
that  no  one  will  imagine  we  chronically  disapproved  of 
each  other  or  were  for  ever  competing  and  quarrelling. 
Like  all  healthy-minded  children  we  had  our  little  rivalries 
and  ambitions,  a  large  stock  of  cocksureness  as  to  who 
was  in  the  right,  and  .  .  .  both  of  us  had  tempers.  Hence, 
though  our  differences  were  no  longer  settled  with  knives 
and  forks,  there  were  plenty  of  rows,  but  as  a  matter  of 
fact  we  were  devoted  to  each  other,  and  so  closely  identified 
in  people's  minds  that,  much  to  our  annoyance,  our  parents 
would  sometimes  say :  '  Mary  and  Ethel,  shut  the  door/ 
Believers  in  the  saint-like  children  met  with  in  books,  and 
who  probably  view  their  own  vanished  childhood  in  the 
same  unreal  light,  may  not  be  of  my  opinion,  but  I  hold 
that  no  great  attachment  is  possible  between  young  growing 
things  without  these  clashes  of  temperament,  and  that  you 
are  all  the  better  friends  afterwards.  Thus  it  was  at  any 
rate  in  our  case. 

It  had  always  been  an  axiom  in  the  family,  that  from 
earliest  years  Mary  had  been  drawn  by  me  into  tomboyish 
ways  that  really  were  foreign  to  her  nature.  I  think  this 
is  probably  true  ;  anyhow,  as  time  went  on,  boys  who  began 
by  being  attracted  by  my  independence  and  proficiency 
in  games,  always  ended  by  forsaking  me  in  order  to  minister 
to  Mary's  more  feminine  helplessness — buckling  on  her 
skates  for  her,  or  in  response  to  a  piteous  '  Help  me  !  I'm 
giddy  ! '  flying  to  her  rescue  among  the  higher  branches 
of  the  old  cherry-tree.  I  remember  various  incidents 
connected  with  faithless  boy-lovers  of  mine,  but  think 
that  in  all  this  I  was  playing  a  part,  doing  what  I  knew 
was  the  correct  thing.  Now  and  again  a  very  real  feeling 
of  mortification  may  have  swept  over  me  as  I  saw  my 
admirers  succumbing  to  the  charms  of  Mary,  but  from  the 
first  my  most  ardent  sentiments  were  bestowed  on  members 


8o  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED         1867-72 

of  my  own  sex,  and  the  love  affairs  with  boys  were  but 
imitative  and  trashy,  I  fear. 

The  other  day  I  came  upon  a  draft  of  a  letter  addressed 
to  a  very  dull  Harrow  boy  who  afterwards  took  Holy  Orders. 
Oddly  enough  all  my  admirers  became  schoolmasters,  or 
clergymen,  or  both ;  perhaps  I  was  the  one  wild  adven- 
ture of  coast-hugging  spirits  who  immediately  afterwards 
reverted  to  type.  This  particular  lover  seems,  however, 
to  have  reverted  prematurely,  and  the  letter  began  :  '  O 
Willie,  Willie  !  how  could  you  deceive  a  poor  girl  as  you 
have  me  ?  ' — which  shows  that  my  style  was  formed  either 
on  Shakespere  or  the  nursery  maid,  who  under  these 
circumstances  use  identical  language. 

Humble  as  is  the  mood  reflected  in  this  letter,  my  father 
and  most  of  the  relations  rightly  considered  that  I  had 
an  overweening  opinion  of  myself ;  in  fact  Papa  said  I 
reminded  him  of  Lord  John  Russell,  of  which  notoriously 
conceited  statesman  the  Times  remarked  that  he  would 
be  quite  willing  to  take  command  of  the  Channel  Fleet  at 
a  moment's  notice.  No  doubt  the  parallel  was  justified, 
and  I  may  have  deserved  the  plentiful  snubbing  I  got,  but 
no  amount  of  it  ever  shook  my  conviction  that  I  was  more 
musical  than  they  had  any  idea  of.  For  instance  my  mother 
and  I  were  once  hunting  in  some  music  books  for  a  certain 
composition,  but  whereas  she  played  the  first  bar  of  each 
piece  in  her  book  with  one  hand,  I  just  gave  a  glance  and 
turned  the  page  of  mine.  '  Take  care,  you'll  miss  it/  cried 
she,  and  I  said  to  myself  :  '  She  doesn't  know  as  much  as 
I  ! '  but  didn't  tell  her  so  because  I  loved  her — a  rare  case 
of  abstention  from  boasting  which  astonished  me  myself, 
and  which  I  cannot  help  mentioning. 

I  have  said  that  she  lost  her  beautiful  voice  long  before 
the  usual  age,  but  in  the  earlier  Frimhurst  days,  when  she 
was  between  forty-three  and  forty-five,  she  still  sang  occa- 
sionally, and  one  of  her  songs,  my  father's  favourite,  '  Of 
what  is  the  old  man  thinking  ?  '  had  a  charming  melody, 
her  perfect  phrasing  of  which  struck  even  me,  a  child. 
But  the  song  I  liked  best — really  a  duet,  only  I  never  heard 
it  in  that  form — was  a  certain  little  masterpiece  all  on  the 
tonic,  dominant,  and  sub-dominant,  (a  great  test) — full 


i867-72         THE  SMYTH  FAMILY  ROBINSON 


81 


of  accent  and  fun  both  as  to  music  and  words.  It  was 
called,  I  think,  '  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Smith/  and  illustrated  to 
perfection  H.  B.'s  theory  that  '  English  married  life  bases 
on  snarling.'  Mrs.  Smith  had  apparently  expressed  a  wish 
to  go  to  Brighton,  and  the  ball  opens  with  her  husband's 
comments  on  this  proposal.  I  cannot  refrain  from  giving 
the  first  four  bars  and  some  of  the  verses,  the  last  three 
lines  of  which  are  always  repeated. 


Misses     Smith,  up  •  on  my    word,      it      is          really  too  ab  -  surd !     I  de- 


w 


— «. 


clare  there's  no  one  like  you  ei  -  ther      far 


or  near  !        Win  -  t«r 


m 


(MR.  SMITH) 

Mrs.  Smith,  upon  my  word 

You  are  really  too  absurd, 
I  declare  there's  no  one  like  you  either  far — or — near ! 

Winter,  Summer,  Autumn,  Spring, 

You're  for  ever  on  the  wing, 
Never  quiet  for  a  moment  Mrs.  Smith — my — dear  ! 

(MRS.  SMITH) 

O  my  love,  now  in  your  conscience 

How  can  you  talk  such  nonsense  ! 
I  declare  your  little  judgment  isn't  o — ver — clear ; 

There's  a  time  of  year  that  carries 

Ev'ry  soul  to  Rome  or  Paris, 
And  I  only  mentioned  Brighton  Mr.  Smith — my — dear 


After  a  stanza  or  two  which  I  have  forgotten.  .  .  . 

VOL.  I.  G 


8a  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED         1867-72 


(MR.  SMITH) 

Then  your  bonnets,  caps,  and  curls, 

Combs,  and  trinkets  for  the  girls, 
Your  Assembly  Rooms  and  boxes  on  the  Pre — mier — tier 

Ton  my  life  it's  very  funny, 

Not  a  thought  about  the  money  .  .  . 
Where  the  devil  should  it  come  from  Mrs.  Smith — my — dear  ? 

(MRS.  SMITH,  sarcastically) 

And  pray  where  are  all  your  schemes, 

All  your  million-making  dreams, 

Your  subscription  men,  your  Aldermen,  your  no — ble — 
peer  ? 

If  of  all  you've  let  them  sack 

You  ever  see  a  shilling  back, 
Why  I'm  very  much  mistaken  Mr.  Smith — my — dear  ! 


I  cannot  remember  Mr.  Smith's  counter  to  this — some- 
thing to  the  effect  that  his  restless  spouse  seems  to  prefer 
any  place  to  the  domestic  hearth — but  I  wish  I  could 
convey  an  idea  of  the  deadly  point  my  mother  put  into 
Mrs.  Smith's  final  thrust  .  .  .  with  just  a  suspicion  of 
tears  at  the  repetition  of  the  last  three  lines.  .  .  . 

(MRS.  SMITH) 

I  don't  ask,  Sir,  where  you  roam, 

But  this  I  know, — at  home 
It  is  very  little  of  you  that  we  see — or — hear ! 

And  where  you  choose  to  be 

Is  a  mystery  to  me  ... 
Why  the  fact  is  quite  notorious,  Mr.  Smith — my — dear ! 

The  concluding  verse  is  a  real  duet,  both  singing  at 
the  same  time,  and  all  I  remember  of  it  is  the  eminently 
sensible  conclusion  they  come  to  in  the  last  line : 

So  we'd  better  both  be  quiet  j  ,/'  I  Smith — my — dear  ! 


1867-72         THE  SMYTH  FAMILY  ROBINSON  83 

I  would  give  anything  to  meet  with  this  extraordinarily 
English  bit  of  music  again — as  English  as  Bishop  and 
Sullivan,  harking  back  far  beyond  the  former,  and  yet 
thoroughly  Victorian.  Can  any  one  help  me  ? 

By  this  time  I  had  taken  to  composing  chants  and  hymns, 
music  being  connected  in  my  mind,  in  spite  of  the  Smiths, 
mainly  with  religion — a  well-known  English  malady.  And 
to  each  of  these  productions  the  name  of  a  '  passion '  was 
given.  Our  duets  had  now  become  a  feature  at  home 
dinner  parties,  Mary  having  a  very  pretty  voice  and  a  great 
idea  of  delivery.  One  thing  I  well  remember — wondering 
how  I  knew  by  instinct  exactly  where  she,  or  other  singers 
I  accompanied,  would  be  likely  to  '  go  flat '  (for  of  course 
one  interval  was  as  easy  to  me  as  another)  and  what  note, 
emphasised  in  time,  would  correct  the  tendency.  In  later 
years  this  mystery  of  critical  intervals  became  clear  to  me. 

There  was  one  musical  torture  of  my  youth,  however, 
from  which  no  relief  could  be  obtained.  Maddened  by  a 
reiterated  wrong  note,  or  what  my  friend  Lady  Ponsonby 
once  called  '  foolish  basses/  I  would  cry  :  '  I  can't  do  this 
sum  if  you  go  on  playing  G  natural ;  it's  G  sharp  ! '  And 
Mary  would  calmly  reply  :  '  I  prefer  playing  G  natural/ 
and  go  on  doing  it.  I  consider  both  parties  in  this  matter 
blameless  and  no  apologies  need  be  offered  for  either,  but 
I  do  blame  the  wretched  governesses,  who,  themselves 
incapable  of  distinguishing  wrong  from  right  notes,  would 
tell  me  to  mind  my  own  business  and  get  on  with  my  sum. 

Now  in  extreme  cases  my  mother  knew  very  well  when 
wrong  notes  were  being  played,  but  having  survived  many 
years  of  English  drawing-room  music  she  bore  it  with 
relative  equanimity,  and  the  rest  of  my  world  were  in  the 
same  position  as  our  governesses.  Realising  which  I 
became  more  and  more  certain  that  I  was  in  a  different 
class,  musically,  to  my  surroundings,  and  that  knowledge 
did  its  slow  work  in  my  heart,  as  subsequent  events  were 

to  prove. 

•  ••••• 

In  some  ways  I  think  we  two  were  precocious  children, 
but  on  one  subject — I  speak  for  myself,  not  knowing  how 
it  was  with  Mary — I  was  very  innocent.  When  I  was  about 


84  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED          1867-72 

eleven,  one  awful  day,  after  overhearing  scraps  of  a  con- 
versation, or  perhaps  enlightened  in  a  flash  by  a  line  of 
poetry,  I  suddenly  gathered  that  having  babies  and  em- 
bracing were  mysteriously  connected ;  and  despair  fell 
upon  me,  for  shortly  before  I  had,  without  enthusiasm, 
allowed  a  boy  I  rather  hated  to  kiss  me  in  the  rosery  ! 
Like  every  child  in  a  large  family  I  was  aware  you  could 
not  tell  for  a  long  time  if  a  baby  were  on  the  way  or  not,  and 
for  two  or  three  months  I  would  surreptitiously  examine 
my  figure  in  the  glass  and  fancy  the  worst.  What  agonising 
suspense  of  after  years  can  compare  with  that  of  a  child 
thus  tortured,  unable  to  confide  in  anyone,  and  wondering 
as  I  did,  should  the  dreaded  thing  happen,  whether  I  would 
drown  myself  in  the  deep  water  near  the  lock,  or  lay  my 
head  on  the  rails, — perhaps  in  the  tunnel,  where  people 
would  think  it  had  been  an  accident !  It  is  because  the 
memory  of  that  terror  is  as  fresh  to  me  nowr  as  if  it  had  all 
happened  yesterday,  that  I  am  sure  children  ought  to  be 
more  enlightened  on  such  matters  than  they  are.  Not 
being  a  mother  I  fortunately  need  not  bother  my  head 
about  the  best  way  to  do  it. 

This  was  of  course  a  case  of  innocent  imagination  run 
riot,  but  I  remember  another  excess  of  imagination,  in  other 
words  one  of  those  lies  children  tell  in  order  to  make  them- 
selves important,  which,  though  no  harm  was  done,  troubled 
my  conscience  for  months  and  months.  The  son  of  one  of 
our  neighbours  was  supposed  to  be  courting  a  pretty  visitor 
(whom  by  the  by  he  afterwards  married),  and  one  day  I 
reported  that  I  had  seen  him  kiss  her  in  the  garden — a 
proceeding  I  no  longer  considered  fraught  with  possible 
tragedy  but  merely  reprehensible.  Every  one  at  home 
was  thrilled  with  excitement,  and  presently  I  would  have 
given  my  head  to  confess  it  was  an  invention,  but  could 
not  summon  up  the  requisite  moral  courage.  Such  were 
my  sufferings,  however,  that  soon  afterwards  I  registered 
a  vow,  if  only  because  romancing  is  so  easy,  to  adopt  a 
line  of  strict  truthfulness  in  the  future.  And  that  line  I  have 
stuck  to  ever  since — possibly  with  more  zeal  than  discretion. 

I  have  said  that  the  whole  course  of  my  life  was  deter- 


i867-72        THE  SMYTH  FAMILY  ROBINSON  85 

mined,  little  as  she  realised  it,  by  one  of  our  governesses. 
When  I  was  twelve  a  new  victim  arrived  who  had  studied 
music  at  the  Leipzig  Conservatorium,  then  in  the  hey-day 
of  its  reputation  in  England  ;  for  the  first  time  I  heard 
classical  music  and  a  new  world  opened  up  before  me. 
Shortly  after,  a  friend  having  given  me  Beethoven's  Sonatas, 
I  began  studying  the  easier  of  these  and  walked  into  the 
new  world  on  my  own  feet.  Thus  was  my  true  bent  suddenly 
revealed  to  me,  and  I  then  and  there  conceived  the  plan, 
carried  out  seven  years  later,  of  studying  at  Leipzig  and 
giving  up  my  life  to  music.  This  intention  waS  announced 
to  everyone  and  of  course  no  one  took  it  seriously,  but  that 
troubled  me  not  at  all.  It  seemed  to  me  a  dream  that  I 
knew  would  come  true  in  the  fulness  of  time,  but  I  was  in 
no  hurry  as  to  the  when.  Alas,  all  my  life  I  have  paid  for 
those  seven  wasted  years  !  I  want  to  make  it  clear,  that 
this  was  no  mere  passing  idea  such  as  children  entertain 
and  let  go  again  ;  when  I  came  out  I  was  not  exactly  faith- 
less but  slack  about  it  during  a  few  months,  for  reasons  I 
will  explain  by  and  by,  but  the  decision  was  taken  and  cast 
in  iron  once  and  for  all. 

My  father's  Aldershot  command  came  to  an  end  in  1872. 
At  that  time,  owing  to  a  block  in  the  promotion  list,  several 
old  Indian  officers  of  his  seniority  were  given  the  option 
of  retiring  on  a  handsome  pension  with  the  rank  of  General ; 
and  as  his  family  was  large,  and  his  next  command  probably 
in  India,  he  closed  with  the  offer,  sold  his  Cheshire  home, 
which  was  no  longer  in  the  country,  and  bought  Frimhurst. 

It  was  a  sagacious  choice  of  an  abiding-place  for  an  old 
soldier,  well  within  reach  of  contemporaries  still  in  the 
Army — and  what  I  think  he  appreciated  still  more,  old 
subalterns  of  his,  now  some  way  up  the  ladder,  who  simply 
adored  him.  On  the  stretch  of  heath  land  outside  our  very 
gates,  where  most  sham  fights  began,  passed,  or  ended, 
his  own  branch  of  the  service  could  be  watched,  dashing 
up  and  down  the  heather  hills — the  guns  at  any  angle  you 
please — over  banks,  ditches,  and  gravel  pits  ;  and  not 
being  one  of  those  who  think  everything  is  going  to  the 
dogs  since  their  own  time,  nothing  interested  him  more 


86  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED          1867-72 

than  mechanical  and  other  improvements.  Last  but  not 
least,  unless  the  wind  was  dead  in  the  wrong  direction,  you 
could  take  Greenwich  time  from  the  9.30  P.M.  Aldershot 
gun.  He  generally  dozed  a  little  over  his  Times  after 
dinner,  but  at  the  faintest  report  would  wake  up,  saying, 
'  There's  the  gun  ! '  pull  out  his  watch,  and  glance  at  the 
clock  on  the  chimney-piece  (under  which  it  was  the  most 
stringent  rule  of  the  establishment  to  put  the  keys,  after 
locking  up  the  wine  or  the  postbag). 

The  house  was  enlarged,  the  cost  exceeding  the  estimate 
by  a  good  deal, — we  were  never  allowed  to  know  exactly 
how  much — and  a  gravel  lawn-tennis  court  was  added, 
all  too  near  a  certain  unpleasant  overflow,  so  that  when 
the  wind  was  in  a  certain  quarter  there  was  no  forgetting 
his  celebrated  theory  about  '  a  good  open  stink/ 

Being  better  off  now  we  kept  more  horses  ;  fences 
were  set  up  in  '  the  little  field/  and  over  these  we  were 
allowed,  nay,  urged  by  my  father,  to  lark  to  our  heart's 
content.  Mary  was  not  particularly  keen  on  this  amuse- 
ment, but  I  remember  after  she  had  twice  fallen  off  his 
insisting  on  a  third  attempt,  and  amid  shouted  injunctions 
to  '  sit  back  and  give  him  his  head/  she  sailed  over  in  safety 
and  was  much  praised,  as  indeed  she  deserved.  A  more 
ideal  parent  as  regards  encouraging  his  children  to  take 
risks  cannot  be  imagined,  and  throughout  the  unending 
series  of  carriage  accidents  for  which  we  gradually  became 
notorious,  his  first,  I  had  almost  written  his  only,  question 
was  :  '  Is  the  horse  damaged  ?  ' 

He  now  developed  an  interest  in  the  farmyard,  to 
which  the  niceties  of  flower  gardening  would  have  been 
sacrificed  but  for  mother,  who  though  she  appreciated 
rich  cream  and  new-laid  eggs,  objected  to  hens  scratching 
in  borders  and  cows  rambling  on  lawns.  There  was  a  certain 
Jersey  cow  that  gave  more  milk  than  any  other  two  cows, 
but  only  on  condition  of  leading  an  untrammeled  existence  ; 
many  a  morning  at  family  prayers,  the  reader  being  the 
only  person  who  commanded  a  view  of  the  rhododendrons, 
an  agitated  whisper  of  '  Boy — cow  ! '  would  be  addressed 
by  Papa  to  the  backs  of  the  kneeling  servants,  upon  which 
the  page  rose  and  stole  away  on  tiptoe.  And  presently 


i867-72       THE  SMYTH  FAMILY  ROBINSON  87 

the  Lord's  Prayer  was  punctuated  by  sounds  of  admonish- 
ment, reinforced  with  whacks. 

That  Jersey  cow  was  a  character — what  in  the  strange 
working-class  slang  of  to-day  would  be  called  '  chronic.' 
Even  in  the  depths  of  winter  she  rebelled  against  the 
cowhouse,  and  insisted  on  roaming  in  deep  snow,  wrapped 
up  in  sacking.  One  winter  she  appeared  in  a  new  costume, 
a  beautiful  Aubusson  carpet,  by  no  means  worn  out  but 
which  my  mother  had  wearied  of  and  relegated  prematurely 
to  the  sheds,  where  it  was  appropriated  by  the  cowman — 
not  for  domestic  use  but  for  the  Jersey.  The  pattern 
was  all  sheaves  of  corn  and  wreaths  of  flowers,  and  years 
afterwards  we  learned  that  the  children  believed  the  idea 
was  to  persuade  the  cow  it  was  summer  and  induce  her 
to  yield  more  milk. 

I  fancy  some  of  our  governesses  were  scandalised  at 
the  vivid  interest  taken  by  the  whole  family  in  certain 
incidents  of  farmyard  life.  This  tender-hearted  cowman 
was  a  Crimean  veteran  of  middle  age,  whose  snow-white 
head  was  accounted  for  by  the  sympathetic  legend  that 
it  had  been  frozen  during  the  campaign.  But  as  he  shared 
the  weakness  of  most  old  soldiers  of  his  day,  and  as  the 
cow-doctor  was  none  other  than  the  patriarch  who  de- 
manded one  Saturday  night  that  the  hedges  should  be 
cut  back,  it  is  not  surprising  that  our  cows  often  died  at 
critical  moments  in  their  career.  I  remember  one  evening 
the  page  rushing  in  after  dinner  to  say  the  calf  was  born 
and  the  cow  very  bad,  whereupon  all  of  us  except  mother, 
whom  nothing  short  of  the  house  being  on  fire  would  drive 
out  of  doors  at  such  an  hour,  flew  in  a  body  to  the  cow- 
house. The  scene  was  illumined  by  guttering  lanterns 
held  by  the  two  experts,  who,  swaying  backwards  and 
forwards,  were  solemnly  shaking  their  heads  and  murmuring 
in  husky  duet :  '  It  is  not  in  Our  Hands/  .  .  .  Alas !  it 
had  been,  and  the  poor  cow  paid  the  penalty.  .  .  .  And 
I  remember  a  less  tragic  sight  that  probably  would  not 
astonish  students  of  natural  history  as  much  as  it  did 
us — the  baby  chickens  of  a  non-domestically  minded  hen 
cuddling  up  in  the  lower  manger  against  the  stable  cat,  who 
mothered  them  jealously  for  as  long  as  they  would  let^her. 


88  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED        1867-72 

To  complete  the  list  of  my  father's  home  activities  as 
country  gentleman  I  will  only  add  that  on  off  days  he 
gave  much  thought  to  the  kitchen  garden,  and  of  course 
insisted  on  the  oldest  peas  and  beans  being  pulled  first — 
a  well-known  madness  of  all  green-growers  (I  coin  this  word 
with  conviction).  But  occasionally  my  mother  would 
upset  everything  by  sailing  into  the  garden  and  imperiously 
pointing  out  certain  vegetables,  and  that  night  at  dinner 
there  would  be  a  minor  domestic  scene.  One  feels  certain 
that  this  is  exactly  what  went  on  between  Adam  and  Eve 
after  their  expulsion  from  Eden,  if  not  before. 

Lastly,  as  has  been  said  elsewhere,  it  was  now  that  he 
threw  himself  into  county  work,  with  an  energy  and 
thoroughness  which  has  remained  a  tradition  in  that  part 
of  Surrey  to  this  day. 


CHAPTER  X 

1872  AND  1873 

I  HAVE  hinted  that  the  behaviour  of  Mary  and  myself  did 
not  always  give  satisfaction,  one  of  our  habits  that  roused 
disapproval  being  the  innocent  one  of  keeping  diaries.  We 
made  rather  a  mystery  of  it,  and  I  suppose  that  was  the 
crime.  At  length,  goaded  on  probably  by  aunts  and  cousins, 
the  authorities  gave  a  hint  that  the  habit  must  be  dropped, 
and  what  was  worse,  that  the  diaries  might  possibly  be 
confiscated.  Thereupon  we  decided  to  bury  them,  and  I 
always  think  our  choice  of  a  cemetery  was  peculiar.  Of 
course  we  kept  rabbits,  and  inside  the  rabbit  run  I  had  con- 
structed one  of  my  too,  too  solid  tables  and  a  stool  or  so. 
Here  many  pages  of  the  diaries  were  written,  and  perhaps 
that  is  the  reason  why  one  dark  night  we  committed  them 
to  earth,  coffined  in  a  biscuit  box,  in  that  particular  place, 
determined  to  resist  to  the  death  any  attempt  to  make  us 
divulge  the  spot.  We  were  in  grim  earnest  about  it, 
feeling,  I  think  rightly,  that  this  would  be  unwarrantable 
interference  with  the  rights  of  the  individual.  Possibly 
our  parents  came  to  some  such  conclusion  themselves  or 
perhaps  sense  of  humour  prevailed ;  anyhow  the  diaries 
were  left  to  rot  in  peace. 

One  of  our  elder  cousins,  Hugo  J.'s  sister,  wrote  and 
dedicated  to  her  godchild  Mary  such  a  charming  little 
poem  on  this  incident,  that  I  am  delighted  to  find  Mary 
still  possesses  it,  and  give  it  here. 

Oh  Mary  !    Mary !     quite  contrary  ! 

How  does  your  garden  grow  ? 
Written  leaves,  not  rotten  leaves 

Are  beneath  that  sod,  I  know  ! 
89 


90  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED        1872-73 

You've  planted  the  strangest  plant,  I  hear, 
You've  sown  the  strangest  seed — 

Now,  will  it  bloom  a  fragrant  flower 
Or  will  it  rise  a  weed  ? 

Will  those  pallid  leaflets  ever  shoot 

Unfed,  uncheered  by  you  ? 
Or  can  they  grow  without  a  root  ? 

Oh  say,  what  can  they  do  ? 

O  tell  me  if  those  leaves  will  blow, 

And  will  the  fruit  be  fair  ? 
And  will  the  Spring's  first  gentle  breath 

Awake  the  spirit  there  ? 

Or  will  the  ever-falling  rains, 

The  balmy  evening  dews 
Efface,  instead  of  brightening, 

Their  well-known  inky  hues  ? 


The  summer  zephyr  could  not  wake 

The  life  within  those  leaves, 
Nor  morning  sun,  nor  noontide  ray 

Nor  breezy  dewy  eves  ! 

The  sunshine  of  thine  eyes  alone 

Could  reach  that  plant  so  rare, 
Thy  hand  alone  unfold  the  leaves 

And  read  the  record  there  ! 

Flowers  from  their  stalk  divided 
Droop,  fall,  and  fade  away  .  .  . 

Diaries,  from  their  writers  parted 
Must  they  not  decay  ? 

Months  afterwards  we  privately  exhumed  the  diaries, 
but  by  that  time  some  other  craze  held  us  in  its  grip  and 
the  charm  was  gone.  For  my  part,  disgusted  by  the  un- 
savoury appearance  of  my  heart's  records,  I  threw  them  on 
the  fire ;  and  it  is  to  be  hoped  that  we  both  of  us  gave  up  at 
the  same  time  a  habit  to  which  we  were  secretly  addicted, 


i872-73       THE  SMYTH  FAMILY  ROBINSON  91 

of  being  '  found  '  in  becoming  attitudes  on  sofas  and  in  bow- 
windows. 

Meanwhile  the  governess  question  had  become  a  com- 
plicated one,  owing  to  the  fact  that  the  younger  members 
of  the  family  were  growing  up  and  had  to  be  educated 
too.  A  supplementary  instructress  was  tried  but  it  was 
not  a  success,  for  No.  i  considered  it  beneath  her  dignity 
to  associate  with  nursery  governesses,  and  No.  2  spent  more 
time  in  weeping  and  retailing  her  grievances  to  her  pupils 
than  in  teaching  them  the  three  R's.  In  despair  my  parents 
began  to  wonder  whether  Mary  and  I  had  not  better  be 
sent  to  school. 

The  idea  was  not  readily  entertained,  for  at  that  time 
it  was  not  considered  the  thing  to  let  your  girls  associate 
with  Heaven  knows  whom  under  a  strange  roof.  As  usual, 
when  in  difficulties,  my  mother  consulted  her  neighbour 
Mrs.  Longman,  whose  husband,  head  of  the  great  pub- 
lishing firm,  built  and  lived  at  Farnborough  Hill  (since 
bought  by  the  Empress  Eugenie)  and  whose  family  con- 
sisted, like  ours,  of  six  girls  and  two  boys.  This  friend 
warmly  recommended  a  school  at  Putney,  kept  by  an  old 
governess  of  theirs,  which  put  quite  a  different  complexion 
on  the  matter.  Also,  when  approached  by  my  mother, 
Miss  D.  thought  well  to  intimate  casually  that  among  her 
pupils  were  the  daughter  of  a  Baronet  and  the  daughters 
of  two  Honourables.  Thus  it  came  to  pass — as  we  were 
told  because  we  were  so  unmanageable,  but  really  because 
there  was  nothing  else  to  be  done — that  we  were  packed 
off  to  school  in  1872. 

On  the  day  of  our  departure  Bob,  who  was  then  about 
five,  remembers  us  sitting  side  by  side  on  a  sofa  in  the 
bow-window,  very  erect  and  serious,  in  long  black  coats 
with  broad  braid,  and  mauve  scarfs  tightly  tied  in  a  huge 
bow  under  our  chins,  the  long  ends  floating.  It  was  all  most 
solemn,  and  he  felt  sorry  for  us  without  knowing  why. 

At  that  time  all  we  had  to  show  for  large  expenditure 
in  the  schoolroom  was  a  mere  smattering  of  French,  German, 
and  the  usual  subjects,  the  most  valuable  part  of  our 
education — a  part  moreover  which  had  nothing  to  do 


92  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED       1872-73 

with  governesses — being  the  knowledge  of  the  Bible 
Anglicans  acquire  automatically,  and  a  love  of  Shakespere — 
the  last  thanks  mainly  to  Aunt  Susan,  who  in  her  cold  way 
had  strong  literary  proclivities,  and  a  special  devotion  to 
Shakespere  which  she  passed  on  to  Johnny.  He  it  was 
who  first  urged  me  to  read  '  Julius  Caesar  '  and  kindled  a 
life-long  passion  which  has  known  no  ups  and  downs.  All 
schoolmistresses  begin  by  addressing  a  remark  of  awful 
affability  to  new  pupils,  and  Miss  D.'s  to  me  was  :  *  I  hear 
you  are  quite  a  Shakespere  scholar  !  ' 

My  school  life  is  a  sort  of  block-memory ;  I  see  few 
details,  but  of  course  '  passions '  raged  all  the  time.  There 
were  walks  in  long  procession  of  two  and  two ;  once  we 
were  led,  my  heart  beating  furiously,  past  the  house 
where  I  knew  Jenny  Lind  lived.  From  allusions  to  her 
triumphs  in  old  volumes  of  Punch,  and  my  mother's  de- 
scriptions of  her  supreme  art,  she  had  long  been  one  of  my 
heroines,  and  if  anyone  had  told  me  that  one  day  I  should 
become  fairly  intimate  with  this  striking  and  terrifying 
personality  I  should  have  gone  off  my  head  on  the  spot. 
The  more  usual  thing  was  vague  rambles  across  Putney 
and  Roehampton  Commons,  and  I  remember  the  pang  of 
joy  and  longing  that  always  shot  through  me  at  one  parti- 
cular spot,  then  unspoiled  by  villas.  It  was  a  plateau- 
edge  where  we  always  turned  off  to  the  left  homeward — a 
dip  in  the  road,  the  yellow  of  the  gravel  where  it  cut  through 
the  hill,  and  a  blue  distant  expanse  of  happy  lands  where 
people  walked  at  their  own  pace  and  went  home  when  they 
felt  inclined.  Masters  ('  extras  ')  came  from  London  to 
teach  us  music,  drawing,  astronomy,  and  chemistry.  I 
remember  the  chemistry  classes  best,  because  of  the  breath- 
less excitement  as  to  whether  the  experiments  would  come 
off ;  sometimes  they  did  and  sometimes  they  didn't,  but 
there  never  was  any  doubt  as  to  why  schoolboys  call  this 
branch  of  science  '  stinks.'  The  master  had  one  distressing 
peculiarity,  a  drop  hung  for  ever  from  the  tip  of  his  red 
nose  ;  we  used  to  wonder  whether  constant  stooping  over 
jars  of  smoking  chemicals  makes  noses  insentient. 

The  music  master  was  a  black-bearded,  spectacled  little 
German  Jew,  Herr  A.  S.,  and  all  the  busts  of  Pericles  and 


1872-73       THE  SMYTH  FAMILY  ROBINSON  93 

other  great  men  in  my  '  Smaller  History  of  Greece '  were 
furnished  with  spectacles,  had  their  beards  inked,  and  thus 
became  Herr  A.  S.  By  this  time  I  undertook  the  music 
in  our  afternoon  home  services  on  Sundays  as  a  matter  of 
course,  composed,  and  made  the  girls  learn,  chants  and 
hymns,  which  bore  the  names  of  adored  units  in  the  choir 
— my  old  system — and  generally  imposed  myself  musically. 
Hence  poor  Herr  A.  S.  thought  he  saw  a  unique  opportunity 
for  spreading  his  reputation  as  composer,  and  '  L'Alouette/ 
'  Le  R6ve  '  and  all  the  rest  of  them,  French  names  being 
in  favour  because  of  the  success  of  '  La  Priere  d'une  Vierge/ 
were  hopefully  unpacked.  I  rather  fancy  it  was  part  of 
his  contract  that  parents  should  have  a  certain  number  of 
these  works  booked  to  them  at  face  value.  But  I  wouldn't 
even  look  at  them — a  fact  he  recalled  to  me  with  infinite 
good  humour  in  after  years,  when,  an  old,  asthmatic  wreck 
in  retirement,  he  used  to  struggle  up  from  the  country  to 
hear  my  work  performed.  And  indeed  is  it  likely  that 
one  already  deep  in  Schumann,  Schubert,  and  Beethoven 
would  add  Herr  A.  S.  to  the  list  ? 

The  whole  school,  except  those  whose  parents  struck 
at  the  expense,  were  taken  up  to  Mr.  Kuhe's  yearly  Grand 
Benefit  Concert ;  there  for  the  only  time  in  my  life  I  heard 
Patti,  and,  strange  incomprehensible  fact,  what  struck  me 
most  was  her  coquettish  way  of  trotting  on  to  the  platform, 
followed  by  a  display  of  ecstatic  surprise  at  the  plaudits 
that  lifted  the  roof — an  experience  as  common  to  her  as 
the  sun  rising.  The  other  day,  genuinely  overwhelmed  by 
her  incomparable  rendering  of  '  Voi  che  sapete '  on  the 
gramophone,  it  was  bitter  to  reflect  I  had  once  heard  the 
real  woman  and  cannot  recall  the  ghost  of  a  thrill.  Was 
it  my  childish  contempt  for  florid  music — she  sang  some- 
thing by  Donizetti,  I  think — combined  with  insane  dislike 
of  affectation  even  as  innocent  and  ritualistic  as  hers,  or 
does  some  spiteful  god  amuse  himself  by  turning  us  deaf 
and  stupid  for  a  while  ?  .  .  .  We  were  also  taken  to  the 
Royal  Academy  Exhibition,  and  again  a  blank  in  my  memory 
occurs,  to  account  for  which  no  occult  agency  need  be 
sought.  To  the  National  Gallery  we  were  not  taken,  which 
sufficiently  characterises  girls'  schools  of  that  period. 


94  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED        1872-73 

On  Sundays  we  were  marched  to  Putney  Church,  and 
compared  our  personal  appearance  with  that  of  a  rival 
school  on  the  other  side  of  the  chancel.  I  think  we  were  all 
in  love  with  the  cherub-faced  high-born  curate,  less  so  with 
another  clergyman,  who,  I  fear,  took  more  than  a  pastoral 
interest  in  some  of  the  prettier  members  of  his  flock  ;  any- 
how we  knew  Miss  D.  had  reasons  for  making  -ure  that  one 
of  the  staff  should  be  present  during  his  religion  classes. 
He  prepared  me  for  Confirmation  and  I  cordially  disliked 
him,  but  the  great  thing  that  was  to  happen  during  that 
spring  of  1873  dwarfed  all  thoughts  of  any  imperfections 
in  the  agent. 

I  hope  I  have  shown  how  full  of  brightness  and  interest 
our  lives  were  ;  yet  looking  back  and  asking  myself  whether 
on  the  whole  happiness  or  unhappiness  had  predominated 
in  mine,  I  have  no  hesitation  in  answering,  unhappiness. 
How  should  it  be  otherwise  ?  If  I  was  violent  enough  out- 
wardly to  be  called  '  the  Stormy  Petrel '  it  was  nothing 
to  the  violence  within.  Ambitious,  wilful,  torn  by  storms 
of  anger,  despair,  and  love,  feeling  that  somehow  I  was  of 
different  stuff  to  the  boys  and  girls  I  associated  with,  and 
had  that  in  me  that  not  even  my  mother,  who  loved  me 
dearly  and  knew  me  so  well  in  some  ways,  ever  suspected, 
there  was  no  one  to  help  me  into  the  path  I  afterwards 
found  for  myself  with  so  much  difficulty.  I  was  merely 
considered  an  exceptionally  naughty  rebellious  girl  who 
required  snubbing  ;  no  one  saw  anything  there  that  merited 
encouragement.  I  had  fits  of  religion,  and  like  all  people 
of  a  certain  temperament  had  always  been  prone  to  in- 
coherent, anguished  prayer,  after  which  I  knew  peace  for 
a  while ;  but  these  moods  passed,  and  back  rushed  the 
old  stress  and  misery. 

Then  came  my  Confirmation ;  and  when  the  Bishop 
laid  his  hands  on  me — a  solemn  moment  I  remember,  strange 
to  say,  more  vividly  than  my  first  Communion — I  believed, 
as  young  people  will  believe  at  such  times  as  long  as  this 
earth  shall  endure,  that  now  my  troubles  were  over  once 
and  for  all.  And  yet  in  a  book  a  school  friend  had  just 
given  me  I  might  have  found  a  warning  that  this  could 


.. 


i872-73       THE  SMYTH  FAMILY  ROBINSON  95 

not  be  hoped  for,  that  if  even  a  small  modicum  of  one's 
early  fervour  can  be  retained  for  ordinary  working  use 
one  must  be  thankful.1  And  of  course  the  inevitable  hap- 
pened, but  the  spirit  of  those  Confirmation  days  never 
seemed  to  me  incomprehensible  and  impossible  to  recapture 
as  it  does  to  some.  Nor  was  it,  for  since  then  I  have  been 
through  similar  periods  ;  none  is  quite  like  the  last,  but 
the  insweeping  sea  is  always  the  same, — a  sea  that  lifts 
and  does  not  drown. 

On  one  point  I  have  never  been  able  to  see  clearly. 
My  '  Imitation '  is  deeply  scored  in  chapters  such  as  the  ones 
on  '  Inordinate  Affections  '  or  '  Private  Love  hindereth 
most  from  the  Chief est  Good/  and  when  I  came  to  know 
Greek  art  I  instantly  understood  that  excess  and  perfection 
are  enemies  ;  yet  on  the  other  hand  this  world  and  the 
million  worlds  around  us  live  by  fire.  .  .  !  There  is  a 
mental  movement  H.  B.  called  '  going  back  to  your  top  ' ; 
if  you  propound  to  a  child  a  problem  beyond  his  intelligence, 
he  will  stare  at  you  for  a  moment  and  quietly  go  on  with 
his  game.  After  meditating  the  subject  of  passion  versus 
balance  I  always  go  back  to  my  top  with  a  sense  of  peculiar 
relief.  .  .  . 

In  connection  with  this  part  of  my  school  life  I  must 
mention  one  absurd  incident  that  assumed  for  me  the  pro- 
portions of  a  tragedy  at  the  time.  Three  days  after  my 
Confirmation  the  most  adored  of  all  my  school  friends,  a 
very  religious  girl,  extremely  High  Church  like  myself  and 
with  a  face  like  a  sheep,  met  my  old  aversion  Lord  Radstock 
at  a  garden  party,  and  a  week  later  became  a  Plymouth 
Sister !  .  .  .  Instinctively  I  felt  that  this  dreadful 
conversion  was  not  unconnected  with  the  fact  that  Lord 
Radstock  was  probably  the  first  peer  she  had  ever  met 
in  her  life,  and  down  toppled  the  idol  from  her  pedestal. 
I  was  at  heart  a  little  snob  myself  in  those  days  and  may 
have  done  her  injustice  .  .  .  but  ...  I  fancy  not ! 

On  the  whole  Mary  and  I  agree  that  we  learned  a  good 
deal  at  Miss  D/s,  but  I  still  think  among  the  most  important 
things  were  being  taught  how  to  darn  stockings,  and  how 

1  Imitation  of  Christ,  Part  iii.  Chapter  viii. 


96  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED        1872-73 

to  put  clean  linen  back  in  the  drawers,  that  is  at  the  bottom 
of  the  pile — a  principle  I  insisted  on  when  I  came  to  have 
a  house  of  my  own.  As  for  darning,  it  is  more  than  needle- 
work ;  it  is  bridge-building,  it  is  house-building  (for  hus 
you  lath  and  plaster  a  ceiling),  it  is  gardening  (for  thus  you 
make  something  grow  where  there  was  nothing).  In  short 
it  has  the  charm  of  all  jobs  that  begin  with  the  formula: 
'  take  a  hole/  But  I  never  do  it  if  I  can  help  it. 

Memories  of  home-life  now  assumed  a  passionate  aspect 
of  course,  and  on  this  theme  we  wrote  words  to  a  tune 
then  in  vogue — a  tune  so  jolly  and  shapely  that  I  think 
it  must  be  by  Offenbach.  This  song  became  a  great  feature 
in  our  repertory,  and  the  last  verse,  '  to  be  sung  slowly 
and  sadly/  ran : 

But  soon  we  shall  return 

To  that  horrible  Mango  Chutnee 
We  eat  with  mutton  cold 

In  our  school  which  is  at  Putney      .  . 
Oh  dear  !     Oh  dear  ! 
Let's  shed  a  silent  tear ! 

Chorus  (at  a  cheerful  pace). 
But  hurrah,  hurrah,  our  lessons  are  past ! 
Hurrah,  hurrah  for  freedom  at  last ! 
Hurrah,  hurrah,  though  time  flies  fast 
We'll  make  of  it  all  we  can  ! 

Let  me  say  chutnee  was  not  dragged  in  unlawfully ; 
we  really  did  have  it  twice  a  week,  and  that  it  happens 
to  rhyme  with  Putney  is  a  dispensation. 

Our  school  books,  many  of  which  I  still  have,  are  scored 
with  home  souvenirs.  Before  we  were  exiled  we  had  made 
hot  friends  with  a  young  soldier,  Walter  Lindsay  by  name, 
whose  regiment,  a  very  smart  one  we  were  glad  to  think, 
was  under  canvas  on  the  Chobham  Ridges.  He  was  really  a 
dear  fellow,  as  the  fact  of  his  preferring  to  all  other  company 
that  of  a  couple  of  children  proves,  and  I  have  a  huge  Atlas 
on  the  blank  sheets  of  which  are  no  fewer  than  fifteen 
portraits  of  our  hero  as  viewed  by  my  adoring  eyes.  He  was 
very  good-looking,  but  his  nose  was  certainly  too  long  for 
the  canons  of  perfect  beauty  .  .  .  and  young  artists  do  not 
mince  matters.  Years  and  years  after  I  met  him  again — 


i872-73       THE  SMYTH  FAMILY  ROBINSON  97 

still  very  good-looking  and  father  of  one  of  the  most  beautiful 
girls  in  London — and  of  course  told  him  about  the  Atlas, 
which  so  delighted  him  that  I  promised  to  do  him  tracings 
of  some  of  the  portraits.  But  when  I  produced  them  a 
grave  look  passed  over  his  face,  and  I  realised  with  secret 
amusement  that  he  was  upset  at  his  nose  having  assumed 
such  proportions  even  in  the  eyes  of  a  child  !  .  .  .  Truly 
vanity  is  not  a  feminine  monopoly. 

At  this  period  Mary  and  I  were  much  given  to  writing 
poetry,  and  I  still  possess  a  collection  of  my  plays  and 
verses.  Anything  more  totally  devoid  of  talent  cannot 
be  imagined;  there  is  but  little  sense  of  rhythm  in  the 
verse,  the  funny  poems  are  dreadfully  arch,  and  the  serious 
ones  insufferably  sententious  and  commonplace.  In  my 
case  this  phase  started  before  I  went  to  school,  in  an  effusion 
which  I  overheard  a  misguided  relation  say  was  '  remark- 
able/ and  which  celebrated  a  phenomenon  which  really 
was  remarkable — Northern  Lights  of  unexampled  brilliancy. 
If  only  as  a  warning  to  other  young  poets  with  indulgent 
and  uncritical  relations,  here  it  is  : 

THE  AURORA  BOREALIS 

I  have  seen  the  bright  heavens  in  many  an  aspect 
When  sparkling  in  starlight  and  beaming  with  light, 

But  I  never  have  seen  it  so  gloriously  brilliant 
As  when  the  Aurora  is  shining  at  night. 

I  have  watched  its  faint  ray  growing  stronger  and  stronger, 
Until  its  rich  crimson  is  lighting  the  sky, 

I  have  watched  it  grow  fainter  and  fainter  each  moment 
Until  it  has  faded  to  darkness  on  high. 

We  must  think,  when  we  see  this  great  work  of  our  Maker, 
What  poor  feeble  creatures  we  are  in  His  sight, 

For  who  under  Heaven  could  make  the  Aurora 
To  shine  like  the  day  in  the  midst  of  the  night  ?   .  .  . 

It  is  meant  to  remind  us  of  God  our  Creator, 

To  show  us  our  weakness  compared  to  His  might ! 

(I  myself  thought  this  tacking  on  of  two  extra  lines 
rather  good.) 

VOL.  I.  H 


98  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED        1872-73 

The  poems  of  the  Putney  period  show  some  slight 
improvement ;  there  are  a  few  verses  on  '  Confirmation  ' 
which  are  really  sincere  and  not  unmusical ;  I  expect  they 
were  more  than  directly  inspired  by  '  The  Christian  Year/ 
I  had  not  re-met  this  poem  when  I  wrote  about  my  Con- 
firmation, and  am  interested  to  see  there  is  no  reference 
to  the  Holy  Communion,  and  that  the  best  verse  begins  : 

When  the  Bishop  now  is  laying 
His  hands  upon  us,  praying  .  .  . 

— the  sort  of  incident  which  gives  a  memoir-writer  confi- 
dence. Most  of  the  other  effusions,  whether  black  tragedy, 
or  in  comic  vein,  lampooning  our  masters  and  mistresses, 
are  in  the  cantering  metre  of  the  '  Aurora  Borealis  ' ; 
perhaps  this  was  the  influence  of  Byron  whom  I  greatly 
admired,  or  possibly  it  was  an  inheritance  of  Bonnemaman 
and  her  '  Gipsy  King/  But  there  was  one  case  that 
evidently  nothing  but  blank  verse  could  meet. 

UNREQUITED  LOVE 
(A  Fragment) 

And  thus  we  stake  our  lives  on  one  great  love, 
And  thus  our  hopes  are  shattered  when  we  find 
That  earthly  love  hath  Summer,  and  a  Spring  .  .  . 
Alas  that  Love  should  have  a  Winter  too  !  .  .  . 
I  staked  my  all  upon  the  raft  of  Love 
And  peacefully  it  floated  down  Life's  stream. 
But  then  Life's  river  is  a  changing  stream  ; 
Sometimes  'tis  rapid,  sometimes  slowly  winds 
Through  pastures  green,  with  flowers  dipping  in 
Their  blushing  faces  when  the  noonday  sun 
Waxes  too  strong.     Sometimes  through  mountain  gorge 
It  tears  and  foams,  rending  the  trees  and  bushes, 
Waking  a  thousand  echoes  in  the  rocks  .  .  . 

My  raft  was  floating  onward  peaceably — 
It  struck  upon  a  rock — a  crash — it  sank  ! — 
O  cruel  rock  !    for  now  my  heart  is  torn 
From  all  it  held  the  dearest  upon  earth  .  .  . 
She  cares  not  for  my  love  .  .  .  and  so  I  mourn 
In  Solitude  ! 


1872-73       THE  SMYTH  FAMILY  ROBINSON  99 

Sometimes  I  wonder  if,  in  a  future  state,  what  artists 
look  on  as  their  matured  masterpieces  will  strike  them  as 
the  above  '  poems '  strike  their  author  to-day. 

This  literary  phase  of  ours  resulted  in  one  incident 
more  ludicrous  even  than  our  own  productions.  During 
one  summer  holidays  Fred  Longman,  a  cultured  nephew  of 
our  neighbour's,  lent  us  a  periodical  in  which  was  what  he, 
and  of  course  we,  considered  a  wonderful  poem.  The 
subject  was  a  priest's  love  affair  and  it  seemed  to  us  the 
last  word  of  tragic  passion.  Mary  and  I  at  once  copied 
it  out,  but  somehow  or  other  the  matter  came  to  the  ears 
of  our  elders.  Mr.  Longman,  appealed  to  as  an  incontest- 
able authority,  pronounced  the  verdict — I  remember  his 
exact  words — that  the  thing  was  '  revolting  in  thought 
and  disgusting  in  expression/  and  profuse  apologies  were 
tendered  for  his  nephew's  indiscretion.  Foreseeing  that 
we  should  be  called  upon  to  destroy  our  copies,  we  actually 
spent  the  whole  of  a  stormy  night  committing  the  poem 
to  memory,  aided  by  flashes  of  lightning  which  illumined 
the  doomed  manuscripts — whether  because  this  seemed  the 
most  suitable  illumination,  or  because  we  had  no  candle, 
I  am  unable  to  say.  Thus  it  is  possible  to  summon  the 
first  stanza  from  the  shades  of  oblivion. 

I  was  a  priest  and  I  should  not  love  her, 

I  was  a  man  and  my  love  was  hers  ! 

Turn  it  and  turn  it  from  cover  to  cover, 

The  book  of  my  soul  no  more  avers 

In  my  deed's  defence  than  this  one  thing ; 

That  Love  held  my  will  in  his  fierce  hot  hand, 

And  swayed  it,  and  shook  it,  and  tore  it  asunder 

As  your  tropic  earthquake  tears  the  land, 

As  your  lightning  leaps  with  his  voice  of  thunder 

To  smite  the  trees  which  were  green  in  Spring, 

And  grind  the  spires  of  granite  to  sand  ! 

[In  those  days  the  possessive  pronoun  before  earth- 
quake and  lightning  puzzled  me ;  '  why  your  ?  '  I  asked 
myself.  And  nowadays,  having  grasped  the  rhetorical 
nature  of  that  pronoun,  I  ask,  still  more  insistently  :  '  Why 
your  ?'...] 


ioo  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED       1872-73 

To  return  to  the  priest.  Passing  from  generalities  to 
facts,  he  now  tells  us  that  '  oft  when  the  organ  did  grumble 
and  groan  for  the  puny  human  fingers  that  vexed  it ' — 
(I  thought  that  bit  wonderful)  he  would  invoke  '  the 
forms  and  faces  of  women  that  dwell  in  the  seats  whence 
the  poor  young  angels  fell.'  Of  these  he  remarks  '  a  body 
each  had,  but  Heaven  unsexed  it/  and  needless  to  say 
such  anaemic  visions  had  no  chance  against  flesh  and  blood 
realities  like  '  my  lady  with  rich  warm  lips,  and  love  in 
her  face  and  finger  tips,  and  great  grey  eyes  that  looked 
out  from  afar,  and  the  great  arched  neck,  made,  sure,  for 
caressing  '  (these  must  have  been  the  passages  Mr.  Longman 
had  in  mind  when  he  used  the  term  '  disgusting  in 
expression/  for  I  cannot  recall  anything  more  ardent). 
And  so  this  tragic  affair  went  on,  accompanied  by  '  the 
moan  of  the  selfish  sea,  its  moan  as  up  to  the  moon  it  strove/ 
until,  after  a  good  deal  of  perfunctory  prayer  on  the  beach, 
the  moment  came  when '  in  the  small  poor  hall  of  her  father's 
house  '  he  *  felt  and  knew  that  the  Fate  did  come  and  the 
Curse  did  fall/ 

I  have  forgotten  a  good  deal  of  the  middle  part, 
though,  as  I  write,  details  come  back  to  me  that  tend  to 
further  justify  Mr.  Longman  ;  but  I  well  remember  the 
last  stanzas,  in  which  grave  doubts  as  to  the  future  are 
expressed,  the  hero  going  so  far  as  to  ask  himself  :  *  Where 
Love  did  reign  shall  Despair  and  Hate  blacken  us  both  for 
the  Hell  below  ?  '  Undaunted,  however,  by  this  distress- 
ing possibility,  his  last  words  are  pitched  in  an  heroic 
key  to  which  Mary  and  I  did  ample  justice,  chanting  out 
the  final  couplet  in  loud  exultant  unisono : 

Yet  I  feel  no  fears  for  the  vengeful  years, 
But  lift  up  my  face  to  defy  them  all ! 

When  I  reflect  how  often  the  thought  of  this  whole  incident 
has  made  me  laugh,  I  bless  the  mental  effort  that  engraved 
a  few  hundred  lines  of  inflated  rubbish  into  the  brains  of 
two  silly  schoolgirls. 


CHAPTER  XI 

1873  TO  1875 

IN  the  course  of  periodical  returns  to  the  scene  of  our 
past  schoolroom  activities,  one  thing  impressed  itself 
strongly  on  our  minds.  We  had  always  been  given  to 
understand  that  the  everlasting  rumpusses  and  governess 
crises  were  owing  to  our  peculiar  temperaments  and  general 
unmanageableness ;  but  it  was  obvious  that  exactly  the  same 
thing  was  going  on  now,  also  that  the  class  of  instructress 
had  not  changed  since  our  day.  But  though  we  had  had 
some  queer  specimens  to  deal  with,  Mary  and  I  never 
achieved  anything  to  compete  with  the  Queen  of  the 
children's  series — a  lady  who  wore  stockings  woven  in 
black  and  white  rings,  and  remarked  it  would  be  madness 
for  anyone  whose  legs  were  short  of  perfect  symmetry  to 
venture  on  that  pattern.  '  I  may  tell  you/  she  added, 
'  that  when  I  was  young,  gentlemen  used  to  ask  me  to 
walk  up  ladders  so  that  they  might  look  at  my  ankles.' 
The  bewitching  ankles  were  still  exhibited  to  any  large 
four-legged  animal  she  might  meet,  before  whom,  catching 
up  her  petticoats,  she  would  fly  like  the  wind.  On  such 
occasions  she  was  not  above  negotiation,  a  fact  taken 
advantage  of  by  her  pupils,  who  would  lead  her  innocently 
through  a  field  in  which,  as  they  knew,  one  or  other  of 
the  horses  had  been  turned  out.  Paddy  had  a  way  of 
gallopping  after  passers-by  with  his  mouth  wide  open, 
which,  though  meant  in  the  friendliest  spirit,  had  such 
an  effect  on  Miss  Gobell's  nerves  that  she  would  bribe 
them  with  the  promise  of  a  half-holiday  to  take  her  home 
by  some  other  route.  In  fact,  our  successors  were  exactly 
the  same  heartless  young  brutes  that  we  had  been  ourselves. 


191 


102  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED        1873-75 

Judging  by  its  repercussion  in  the  schoolroom,  I  think 
the  drama  must  have  been  on  the  up-grade  in  those  days  ; 
certainly  the  children's  performances  struck  me  as  more 
vivid  and  realistic  than  ours  ever  were.  I  well  recall  one 
particular  charade  acted  on  the  landing  outside  the  school- 
room. For  the  whole  word  a  huge  target  was  to  be  dis- 
played, and  it  was  the  province  of  a  little  neighbour  of 
ours  (a  child  of  excessive  temperament),  armed  with  a  rifle, 
cap  and  all  complete,  to  fire  home  the  point.  When  the 
time  came,  however,  overpowered  by  excitement  she  forgot 
to  fire,  and  running  amuck  amongst  the  audience  prodded 
right  and  left  with  her  weapon,  screaming  '  Bull's-eye  ! 
bull's-eye  ! '  The  success  of  this  unexpected  finale  may 
be  imagined,  but  remembering  what  I  have  gone  through 
myself  on  the  operatic  scene,  owing  to  points  of  stage- 
management  being  missed  or  bungled,  I  warmly  sympa- 
thise with  the  fury  of  Miss  Grace  Pain's  fellow  actors. 

I  remember,  too,  one  bit  of  dialogue  that  brought  the 
house  down,  for  the  whole  establishment,  especially  the  men 
servants,  heard  it  at  least  once  a  week  in  real  life. 


SCENE  :   The  Drawing  Room 

PAPA.    Where  are  the  keys  ? 

MAMA.    Under  the  clock. 

PAPA.    They're  not  under  the  clock. 

MAMA.    But  they  must  be ;    I  put  them  there  myself. 

PAPA.  I  tell  you  they're  not  there.  When  did  you 
have  them  last  ? 

MAMA.  After  luncheon  of  course,  when  Violet  locked 
up  the  wine.  It  was  bitterly  cold  in  the  dining-room  because 
you  always  will  tell  David  not  to  pile  up  the  coals,  and  I 
remember  going  straight  to  the  fireplace  after  lunch,  and 
putting  the  keys  under  the  clock  before  I  settled  down  to 
try  and  get  warm  again 

PAPA.  Well  then  someone  has  taken  them  away  and 
not  put  them  back.  If  people  go  meddling  with  the  keys 

and  don't  put  them  back,  how  the  devil (fumbles  in 

his  trouser  pockets).  Why,  bless  my  soul !  I  had  them  in 
my  pocket  all  the  time  ! 


1873-75       THE  SMYTH  FAMILY  ROBINSON  103 

I  may  add  that  the  children  got  up  these  things  by 
themselves,  the  help  of  their  elders  being  neither  asked 
for  nor  required. 

During  these  short  respites  from  Putney,  Mary  and  I 
pursued  pleasure  with  the  avidity  of  people  who  know 
there  is  a  term  set  to  it,  and  I  am  reminded  that  our  neigh- 
bours, whose  houses  were  a  fortune  to  us  in  holiday  time, 
have  not  yet  been  spoken  of  as  fully  as  they  deserve. 

Like  the  Longmans,  most  of  them  came  under  the  usual 
heading — peaceful,  normal  people,  nations  without  a 
history  ;  but  there  were  certain  others  with  whom  I  rather 
wonder  we  were  allowed  to  associate  so  freely.  I  suppose 
our  parents  had  acquired  with  years  an  easy-going,  take- 
things-as-you-find-them  philosophy,  such  as  befits  people 
not  very  well  off,  who  have  large  families  keen  on  enjoying 
themselves. 

One  neighbouring  establishment  was  really  fantastic ; 
an  immensely  fat,  clever,  lady  of  the  house,  rumoured  to 
have  been  a  nursery  governess  in  early  youth  ;  a  husband, 
generally  absent  on  journeys  connected  with  some  unspeci- 
fied business,  who  was  said  to  be  addicted  to  drink ;  and 
an  aged  father  stowed  away  in  an  annex,  who  was  taken 
by  my  father,  on  the  occasion  of  a  first  visit,  to  be  the 
gardener,  and  sworn  at  for  not  opening  a  gate  quick  enough. 
There  were  many  children,  including  two  schoolboys  in  love 
with  Mary  and  me  respectively  (though  needless  to  say 
Mary  eventually  mopped  up  both)  and  a  daughter,  of  an 
age  to  be  '  such  a  nice  friend  for  Alice/  Further  there 
was  a  Mr.  Y — ,  '  our  dear  old  friend  Y./  whose  resem- 
blance to  one  of  the  boys  was  so  remarkable  as  to  dumb- 
founder  casual  callers.  But  above  all  there  was  a  hand- 
some old  peer  in  Holy  Orders,  with  a  flowing  grey  beard 
and  the  grand  manner,  who  may  be  said  to  have  constituted 
a  regular  part  of  this  curious  household.  Charitable  neigh- 
bours would  underline  the  fact  that  his  invalid  wife  was  also 
in  the  house,  but  as  she  was  kept  hidden  in  a  side  wing 
and  seldom  if  ever  seen,  whereas  he  and  his  hostess  drove 
out  together  daily,  bulging  right  and  left  over  the  sides 
of  a  tiny  Victoria,  scandal  continued  to  simmer.  At  some 


104  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED        1873-75 

Christmas  festivity  to  which  Johnny  and  Maunsell  B— 
were  invited,  the  rarely  present  master  of  the  house  was 
reported  to  have  burst  into  tears  and  invited  anyone  who 
dared  breathe  a  word  against  his  dear  wife  to  come  out 
on  to  the  lawn  and  fight  him.  He  was  gently  conducted 
to  his  bedroom  by  the  peer,  and  everyone  tacitly  agreed 
to  go  on  as  if  nothing  had  happened.  We  frequently 
played  mixed  cricket  with  the  family,  and  it  was  pointed 
out  that  the  rector,  who  liked  a  glass  of  good  port,  always 
ate  his  Sunday  dinner  at  that  hospitable  board. 

Another  distant  neighbour  was  a  well-known  old  Whig, 
supposed  to  have  stood  in  his  youth  for  the  figure  of  '  Barney 
Newcome  '  ;  but  that  I  cannot  believe,  for  though  an  egoist 
and  a  terrible  snob,  he  had  qualities  that  Barney  had  not, 
being  witty,  well-read,  kindly,  and  what  my  father  called 
rather  an  old  rip.  With  his  fluffy  white  hair  and  coal- 
black  eyebrows,  his  passionate  love  of  poetry,  his  eighteenth- 
century  nonchalance  and  cynicism,  his  extreme  good  nature 
and  worldliness,  he  was  even  then  a  figure  belonging  to 
the  past.  Statesmen  and  members  of  the  great  world 
would  now  and  again  pass  the  week-end  with  him,  and 
knowing  that  the  best  receipt  for  keeping  young  is  to  mingle 
with  youth,  he  would  be  at  some  trouble  to  secure  the 
presence  of  neighbouring  young  girls. 

The  subsequent  happenings  were  standardised ;  he 
would  entice  you  into  the  library  to  look  at  the  bindings 
of  some  new  books  ;  and  then  an  arm  would  steal  round 
your  waist,  and  various  pinchings  and  squeezings,  graduated 
according  to  the  receptivity  of  his  companion,  had  to  be 
endured.  Even  the  most  recalcitrant,  such  as  I,  were 
begged  to  '  give  an  old  man  a  kiss/  and  it  is  strange  he  did 
not  guess  with  what  repulsion  one  met  those  old,  cold  lips. 
What  could  we  do  ?  lie  had  tried  his  best  to  give  us  a 
good  time,  and  we  felt  this  was  the  only  return  we  could 
make  ;  but  it  was  extremely  horrible,  and  I  often  wonder 
how  far  he  went  with  more  facile  subjects  than  myself. 
Once  he  gave  me  a  sovereign, — not,  be  it  remarked,  for 
favours  .received — and  when  I  hesitated  to  accept  it  he 
said  :  '  My  dear,  take  an  old  man's  advice,  never  refuse 
a  good  offer.'  I  thought  the  advice  sound  and  have 


1873-75       THE  SMYTH  FAMILY  ROBINSON  105 

followed  it  ever  since.  It  appears  that  when  his  hour 
struck,  this  old  heathen  made  a  beautiful  and  well-mannered 
end,  apologising  to  his  nurse,  like  Charles  II,  for  being  such 
an  unconscionable  time  dying. 

Now  my  parents  knew  all  about  these  two  households 
but  never  dreamed  of  preventing  our  going  there.  I  cannot 
say  how  entirely  I  approve  this  tacit  recognition  of  the 
truth  that  it  takes  all  sorts  to  make  a  world  ;  and  as  in  the 
country  you  can't  pick  and  choose,  better  let  your  children 
find  their  own  way  about.  If  I  had  a  family  of  my  own 
I  would  bring  them  up  on  the  same  lines. 


In  the  country,  what  are  nominally  children's  parties 
are  often  besprinkled  with  grown-ups,  and  if  only  for  that 
reason  Mary  and  I  were  not  above  attending  many  such 
in  our  Christmas  holidays.  Mary  was  now  an  extremely 
pretty  girl  with  a  natural  taste  for  flirtation,  and  the  eternal 
trouble  was  that,  being  two  years  older  than  I,  she  had 
a  better  chance — even  if  other  things  were  equal,  which 
they  were  not — of  securing  grown-up  partners,  the  secret 
ambition  of  every  child  in  the  room.  As  a  matter  of  fact 
they  swarmed  round  her.  Once  at  a  dance  at  the  Long- 
mans, I  the  surefooted  one,  the  athlete  of  the  family,  suffered 
the  anguish  and  humiliation  of  slipping  up  on  the  parquet 
floor,  and  coming  down  on  all  fours  beside  my  partner  (only 
a  boy  of  course)  whose  head  nearly  cracked  the  boards. 
Later  on,  Mary,  who  was  eating  an  ice,  and  being  ministered 
to  by  a  nephew  of  Mrs.  Longman's,  Edward  Bray  (a  very 
good-looking  Cambridge  man,  with  romantic  grey  eyes) 
said  to  me  airily  over  her  shoulder  :  '  You  must  have 
knocked  at  least  fifty  off  your  price/  If  ever  murder 
was  in  anyone's  heart  it  was  in  mine  at  that  moment ! 

I  had  recently  performed  a  rather  bold  feat.  There 
was  a  big  drain  in  our  grounds,  about  two  feet  in  diameter, 
that  carried  off  the  rainwater  from  the  wood  into  the  canal, 
and  the  season  being  dry,  I  had  entered  this  drain  from 
the  canal  side  and  crawled  right  through  it — some  thirty 
yards  perhaps — pushing  the  unwilling  dog  in  front  of  me 
as  a  precaution  against  mephitic  gases,  and  bribing  Violet 


106  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED        1873-75 

with  ^d.  to  follow  close  in  my  wake.  One  day  when  I 
was  bragging,  as  not  infrequently  happened,  of  my  pluck, 
Mary  casually  remarked  that  she  had  told  Edward  Bray 
about  it,  and  all  he  said  was  :  '  Pah  !  how  disgusting  !  ' 
.  .  .  Slowly  I  realised  he  had  mistaken  the  nature  of  the 
drain  !  .  .  .  This  was  the  sort  of  thing  that  would  make 
me  murmur  to  myself  in  the  silent  watches  of  the  night : 
'  I  wish  I  was  dead — I  wish  I  was  dead  ! '  .  .  . 

Despite  this  grey-eyed  Adonis  and  many  other  fervent 
admirers,  Mary  was  not  unmindful  of  earlier  ties.  Maunsell 
B.,  still  Johnny's  great  friend,  now  considered  himself 
seriously,  though  secretly,  engaged  to  her — much  to  the 
agitation  of  his  mother,  who  saw  what  was  going  on,  and 
though  a  great  friend  of  our  mother's,  had  no  intention  of 
letting  her  darling  and  only  son  marry  a  girl  without  money. 
Meanwhile  Mrs.  B.  was  far  away,  and  Mary  on  the  sofa 
beside  him,  where  they  would  sit  in  the  dusk  and  ask  for 
soft  music.  Being,  as  I  said,  favourable  to  love  affairs  in 
general,  I  met  their  views,  and  am  glad  to  believe  gave 
satisfaction,  the  first  movement  of  the  '  Moonlight  Sonata  ' 
being  considered  especially  sustaining  to  the  emotions. 
Whoever  else  did  not  appreciate  my  music,  those  two 
certainly  did. 

During  one  of  our  summer  holidays  I  myself  was  favoured 
for  the  first  time  with  amatory  speeches  from  a  grown-up, 
though  in  rather  a  public  manner,  for  they  were  bawled 
from  the  branches  of  a  big  apple-tree  whereon  grew  the 
ruddiest  apples  I  ever  saw,  and  which  was  no  distance 
from  the  dining-room  windows.  The  climber,  one  Colonel 
Mclvor,  was  a  total  stranger  to  all  of  us  except  my  mother, 
into  whose  life  he  had  leaped  with  one  chivalrous  bound, 
dragging  her,  so  to  speak,  from  beneath  the  wheels  of  a  Paris 
omnibus.  One  can  imagine  how  this  romantic  incident 
appealed  to  her  imagination,  how  he  was  pressed  to  look 
us  up  in  England,  and  arrived  one  day,  just  in  time  for 
luncheon,  on  a  short  visit. 

He  described  himself  as  a  *  real  soldier  of  fortune,  one 
who  has  fought  for  lost  causes  all  over  the  world/  and  had 
with  him  a  collection  of '  grandeurs,'  in  the  shape  of  foreign 
orders,  which  my  father  wholly  failed  to  identify.  If  the 


1873-75       THE  SMYTH  FAMILY  ROBINSON  107 

publicity  of  his  declaration,  which  took  place  soon  after 
luncheon,  was  rather  disconcerting,  I  supposed  these  were 
open-hearted  ways  acquired  under  warmer  skies  than  ours 
and  was  flattered  on  the  whole.  But  as  the  day  went  on 
his  tales  of  adventure  by  field  and  flood  became  more  and 
more  incoherent,  so  much  so  that  after  dinner  a  strong 
hint  was  given  him  by  my  father  to  leave  next  morning 
by  an  early  train,  which  he  did.  We  afterwards  found  out 
he  had  proposed  both  to  Alice  and  Mary,  and  according 
to  her  account  had  made  improper  advances  to  the  children's 
governess ;  so  I  ceased  boasting  of  my  conquest. 

Colonel  Me  Ivor  was  far  from  being  our  only  improvised 
visitor,  for  my  mother,  bored  with  English  humdrumness 
and  attracted  by  all  things  foreign,  would  sometimes  catch 
at  very  queer  straws  that  floated  past  her  in  Homburg  or 
Wildbad  waters.  For  instance  there  was  a  certain  Madame 
de  S.,  a  Belgian,  who  I  dimly  felt,  even  then,  after  a  certain 
conversation,  was  not  quite  in  her  place  in  the  bosom 
an  English  family ;  she  also  was  more  or  less  bundled 
out  of  the  house.  Cultivated,  well-dressed,  with  perfect 
manners,  I  have  sometimes  wondered  since  whether  she 
was  perhaps  a  White  Slave  agent. 

At  length  came  a  day  to  which  I  had  always  looked 
forward  with  dread  ;  Mary,  who  was  now  of  an  age  to 
come  out,  left  Miss  D.'s  for  ever.  I  was  miserable  without 
her,  and  grateful  for  being  allowed  eventually  to  leave 
school  before  my  own  time  was  up,  poor  Nina  being  sent  to 
work  off  the  pre-paid  terms  in  my  place.  Once  home  I 
made  mother  give  me  lessons  in  Italian,  which  delighted 
us  both,  for  she  was  a  capital  teacher  ;  also  I  went  in  for 
a  Cambridge  Local  Examination  and  was  plucked  owing 
to  grievous  incapacity  for  doing  sums.  Johnny,  who  had 
been  kind  and  interested,  was  really  distressed  at  my 
failure,  but  cousin  Hugo  wrote  a  mock  consolatory  letter 
about  my  now  being  entitled  to  write  M.A.  after  my  name, 
that  is  Mulled  in  Arithmetic — a  joke  I  didn't  think  at  all 
funny. 

It  was  in  the  summer  of  1875 — a  summer  that  in  any 
case  was  to  rob  her  of  her  favourite  daughter — that  the  great 


io8  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED       1873-75 

sorrow  of  my  mother's  life  happened.  Alice  had  been 
engaged  for  some  time  to  a  young  Scotsman,  Harry 
Davidson,  and  the  couple  were  waiting  for  an  impending 
improvement  in  his  prospects,  when  Mary,  who  had  been 
out  but  a  short  time,  also  became  engaged, — not  to  Maunsell 
B.  but  to  Charlie  Hunter,  brother  of  a  school  friend  of  hers. 
There  was  to  be  a  joint  wedding  in  July,  and  the  invitations, 
of  which  I  had  mercifully  kept  a  list,  had  been  sent  out, 
when  it  became  evident  that  Johnny's  slow  martyrdom, 
endured  by  him  with  marvellous  fortitude  and  sweetness, 
was  coming  to  an  end.  For  a  fortnight  he  had  suffered 
from  terrible  headaches,  as  usual  making  no  complaint, 
and  one  night  at  dessert,  taking  up  a  biscuit,  he  said  :  '  How 
queer,  I  can't  read  the  letters  on  this  biscuit/  He  then 
sank  back,  as  we  thought  fainting,  but  a  tumour  on  the 
brain  had  burst,  and  he  became  unconscious  by  slow  degrees, 
his  last  conscious  words  being  :  '  Don't  let  this  illness  of 
mine  stop  the  girls'  weddings/ 

We  used  to  take  it  in  turn  to  watch  nightly  beside  his 
bed,  and  when  relieved  spent  the  rest  of  the  night  on  a  sofa 
in  the  Hall  close  by,  so  as  to  be  ready  if  needed.  One 
night,  after  my  watch  was  over,  I  stumbled  and  fell,  and 
there  I  was  found  when  the  housemaid  came  in  the  morning 
to  open  the  shutters,  asleep  on  the  floor  .  .  .  as  I  had  fallen. 
Such  is  the  sleep  hunger  of  youth.  There  had  just  been 
time  to  cancel  the  invitations,  but  as  it  seemed  that  he 
might  linger  for  some  time  yet,  the  marriages  took  place 
one  morning  at  Frimley  Church,  none  of  the  family  but 
myself  being  present.  The  bridegrooms  went  back  to 
London  from  the  church  door,  and  a  few  days  afterwards 
Johnny  died.  That  afternoon  the  children  had  been  sent 
to  a  kind  neighbour,  and  Nelly  says  that  on  their  return 
mother  met  them  at  the  front  door  to  tell  them  he  was 
dead,  tears  streaming  down  her  face  yet  trying  to  smile — 
a  picture  of  grief  that  has  remained  with  them  ever  since. 

This  was  my  first  acquaintance  with  death,  and  the 
sight  of  that  strange  unfamiliar  face  impressed  me  terribly 
and  painfully.  The  day  after  the  funeral  the  married 
couples  departed,  and  I  became  the  eldest  at  home. 


CHAPTER  XII 

1875  AND   1876 

ALL  this  time,  whether  at  home  or  at  school,  the  main 
determination  of  my  life,  though  sometimes  obscured,  had 
never  wavered ;  it  was  like  a  basso  ostinato,  which,  as  sub- 
sequent counterpoint  studies  showed  me,  will  sometimes 
be  shifted  to  a  less  obvious  position  in  the  midst  of  other 
voices  and  seem  to  the  eye  of  ignorance  to  have  vanished. 
I  certainly  trifled  with  other  ideas,  such  as  marriage,  travel, 
becoming  a  Roman  Catholic,  or  even  a  nun.  This  last 
seems  fantastic  now,  but  after  my  Confirmation  I  held,  as 
I  do  still,  only  in  quite  another  sense,  that  only  one  thing 
matters,  one's  relation  to  God.  And  if  so,  how  about 
obedience  to  parents  ?  My  father  would  never  let  me  go 
abroad  willingly,  if  only  for  reasons  of  economy,  and  I 
quite  grasped  that  making  an  allowance  to  a  married 
daughter,  whose  future  is  no  longer  your  business,  is  quite 
another  thing  to  financing  a  maiden's  sterile  whims.  In 
his  mind's  eye  he  would  see  me,  no  doubt,  returned  on 
his  hands  a  failure — to  knock  too  late  at  doors  in  the 
marriage  market ;  meanwhile  his  income  was  none  too 
large  to  keep  the  home  going.  After  all,  in  the  religious 
life  there  would  be  scope  for  limitless  passion — a  belief 
that  I  imagine  induces  many  conversions — and  Thomas  a 
Kempis  had  given  me  a  foretaste  of  the  ecstasy  of  renun- 
ciation. In  one  of  these  moods  I  set  to  music  and  dedicated 
to  a  latest  '  passion,'  a  very  religious  woman  whose  name 
was  Louisa  Lady  Sitwell,  a  long  piece  of  sacred  poetry. 
I  wish  I  could  look  at  that  MS.  now,  but  no  doubt  it  went 
into  her  wastepaper  basket  more  than  forty  years  ago, 
and  now  she  is  dead. 

109 


no  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED        1875-76 

A  less  sympathetic  phase  was  Social  Ambition.  I  had 
read  memoirs  about  Lady  So-and-So  governing  the  world 
from  her  political  salon,  and  used  to  spend  hours  studying 
the  Peerage  and  settling  which  Duke's  eldest  son  was  to 
give  me  the  position  I  was  so  well  fitted  to  adorn.  It 
became  a  mania  for  the  time,  and  as  we  knew  no  Dukes 
and  had  no  footing  whatever  in  the  great  world,  implied, 
but  for  its  piteous  snobbishness,  a  great  amount  of  imagina- 
tive energy.  I  think  it  must  have  been  in  a  departing 
spasm  of  that  craze  that,  in  answer  to  '  What  is  your 
greatest  desire  ?  '  I  wrote  in  someone's  Confession  Book, 
'  To  be  made  a  Peeress  in  my  own  Right  because  of  Music  !  ' 
Of  course  this  matrimonial  scheming  was  really  a  sort  of 
game,  like  taking  a  Continental  Bradshaw  and  Atlas  and 
planning  journeys  round  the  world  ;  but  I  don't  think  it 
was  a  nice  game,  and  nothing  but  a  firm  intention  to  speak 
the  whole  truth  and  nothing  but  the  truth  in  these  pages 
makes  me  record  the  Social  Ambition  phase. 

The  point  is  that  these  temporary  crazes  blinked  into 
sight  to  vanish  again,  and  back  came  the  basso  ostinato 
more  ostinato  than  ever — as  I  would  take  pains,  by  some 
casual  remark,  to  let  my  father  know  ;  whereupon  he  would 
angrily  rustle  his  Times  and  mutter  something  about 
'  damned  nonsense  ! '  As  for  my  mother,  though  she  was 
by  way  of  backing  him  up,  I  thought  she  was  secretly  on 
my  side. 

I  always  count  the  arrival  of  that  governess  who  played 
classical  music  to  me  when  I  was  twelve  as  the  first  mile- 
stone on  my  road  ;  suddenly,  when  I  was  least  looking  for 
anything  dramatic,  the  second  milestone  loomed  into 
vision — to  my  great  excitement  we  learned  that  the  com- 
poser of  '  Jerusalem  the  Golden,'  a  Mr.  Ewing,  in  the  Army 
Service  Corps,  who  had  married  one  of  the  Gattys,  in  fact 
'  Aunt  Judy  '  herself,  was  stationed  at  Aldershot !  Even 
my  father,  who  hadn't  an  ounce  of  music  in  his  compo- 
sition, may  have  been  moved  by  the  news,  for  that  hymn 
tune,  in  which  there  is  a  sort  of  groping  ecstasy  confined 
in  '  Ancient  and  Modern '  fetters,  was  considered  almost 
as  integral  a  part  of  the  Church  Service  as  one  of  the 


JULIANA  HORATIA  EWING  ("AUNT  JUDY"),  1876. 


1875-76       THE  SMYTH  FAMILY  ROBINSON  in 

Collects.  For  my  part  I  took  it  on  trust  that  at  last  I 
was  to  meet,  not  a  poor  musical  hack  like  Herr  A.  S.,  but 
a  real  musician.  And  I  was  right,  besides  which  Mr.  Ewing 
turned  out  to  be  one  of  the  most  delightful,  original,  and 
whimsical  personalities  in  the  world. 

Mrs.  Ewing  and  my  mother  were  attracted  to  each 
other  at  once  and  eventually  became  great  friends.  Mean- 
while she  took  the  whole  adoring  family  to  her  heart,  bade 
us  call  her  '  Aunt  Judy/  wrote  us  all  the  most  delightful 
letters,  and  it  is  a  great  source  of  pride  to  us  that  the 
Fair  and  donkey-riding  incidents  in  her  delightful  story 
'  Jackanapes '  were  suggested  by  Bob's  adventures  at  our 
own  Frimley  Fair.  Her  lustre  was  slightly  dimmed  by 
a  tendency  to  enjoy  bad  health ;  I  think  she  really  was 
not  strong,  but  as  her  father  once  exclaimed,  according  to 
his  son-in-law :  '  Dear  Juliana  is  always  better,  thank  you, 
but  never  quite  well.'  I  found  a  packet  of  charming  letters 
of  hers  to  mother,  written  in  the  most  beautiful  hand 
imaginable,  which  are  half  spoiled  by  constant  references 
to  her  poor  back,  her  wretched  head,  the  air-cushions  people 
lent  her,  the  number  of  hours  spent  on  the  sofa  after  each 
journey,  and  so  on. 

She  was  devoted  to  the  other  sex,  more  especially  to 
officers  in  the  Royal  Engineers,  then  supposed  to  have  the 
monopoly  of  brains  in  the  British  Army,  and  had  discreet, 
semi-intellectual  and  wholly  blameless  flirtations  with  two 
or  three  of  these  at  a  time.  I  did  not  quite  approve  of 
this — possibly  from  jealousy,  for  needless  to  say  she  at 
once  became  the  ruling  '  passion/  As  for  her  husband,  he 
of  course  demanded  to  hear  me  play  and  be  shown  my 
compositions,  after  which  he  proclaimed  to  our  little  world 
that  I  was  a  born  musician  and  must  at  once  be  educated. 

My  father  was  furious  ;  he  personally  disliked  my  new 
friend,  as  he  did  all  people  not  true  to  the  English  type, 
and  foresaw  that  the  Leipzig  idea  would  now  be  endorsed 
warmly  by  one  who  knew.  The  last  straw  was  when  Mr. 
Ewing  proposed  that  he  himself  should  begin  by  teaching 
me  harmony ;  but  on  this  point  my  mother,  urged  on  by 
Aunt  Judy,  who  had  great  respect  for  her  husband's  judg- 
ment came  over  definitely  into  my  camp.  So  it  was 


H2  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED       1875-76 

settled  that  twice  a  week  I  was  to  drive  myself  over  to 
Aldershot  and  submit  my  exercises  to  his  inspection. 

These  expeditions  were  the  delight  of  my  life.  The 
Ewings  lived  in  one  of  the  wooden  huts  of  which  in  those 
days  the  whole  camp,  with  the  exception  of  the  barracks, 
was  constituted.  They  were  stifling  in  summer  and  bitterly 
cold  in  winter,  but  full  of  charm.  Some  had  gardens,  and 
luckily  the  Ewings'  was  one  of  these,  for  both  were  gardeners 
and  dog  lovers.  I  always  brought  her  flowers  from  Frim- 
hurst,  picking  with  my  own  hand  those  she  loved  best, 
and  generally  laid  siege  to  her  heart.  At  one  moment  I 
must  have  apologised  for  '  gush  ' — for  in  one  of  her  letters 
she  writes  :  '  One  word,  my  dear  child,  about  "  gush." 
I  think  a  habit  of  gush,  like  a  habit  of  pious  talk,  without 
being  necessarily  absolutely  insincere  is  very  objectionable 
and  both  make  me  feel  awkward  to  the  last  degree.  But 
few  people  are  weaker  than  I  am  as  regards  the  luxury  of 
being  loved,  and  pace  the  physiologists  and  psychologists, 
I  like  a  little  divine  fire  both  in  affairs  of  the  heart  and  of 
the  soul.'  Well  ;  she  got  it  as  far  as  I  was  concerned,  but 
though  she  delighted  in,  and  had  positive  genius  for  young 
people,  I  fancy  my  ardent  devotion  gratified  her  less  than 
the  respectful  homage  of  the  R.E's.  « 

I  used  to  arrive  at  n  and  have  harmony  instruction 
till  luncheon  ;  besides  this  my  teacher  analysed  my  compo- 
sitions, and  I  felt  how  capital  his  criticism  was,  and  how 
pithily  expressed.  His  real  instrument  was  the  organ, 
but  with  fingers  ill-adapted  to  piano  playing,  aided  by  a 
very  harsh  cracked  voice,  he  banged  and  bellowed  his  way 
through  the  scores  of  '  Lohengrin  '  and  '  The  Flying  Dutch- 
man/ and  otherwise  introduced  me  to  Wagner.  And  very 
definitely  I  remember  that  Beethoven  appealed  to  me  more 
than  Wagner  or  anyone  else  ;  nevertheless  I  was  bitten  by 
the  operatic  form  of  Art — a  taste  that  was  to  be  squashed 
for  the  time  in  Leipzig  later  on — and  wrote  in  yet  another 
Confession  Book  that  my  '  greatest  desire '  was  to  have  an 
opera  of  mine  played  in  Germany  before  I  was  forty — an 
ambition  fated  to  be  realised.  I  still  have,  and  really 
educated  myself  on,  a  copy  of  Berlioz  orchestration  Mr. 
Ewing  gave  me;  it  is  full  of  characteristic  marginal  notes 


1875-76       THE  SMYTH  FAMILY  ROBINSON  113 

and  ejaculations  by  the  giver,  and  is  a  book  I  often  look 
into  from  sheer  delight  in  its  style. 

After  luncheon  Mrs.  Ewing  would  goodnaturedly  correct 
and  comment  on  the  English  of  little  articles  I  wrote  for 
some  obscure  Parish  Magazine,  declaring  she  could  turn 
me  into  a  writer  by  and  by  ;  but  I  much  preferred  playing 
with  the  dogs  and  talking  to  their  owners  while  they 
gardened. 

Meanwhile  my  father's  dislike  of  '  that  fellow/  as  he 
called  him,  became  fanatical.  With  all  his  geniality  he 
could  be  extremely  forbidding  in  manner  to  people  he 
disapproved  of,  and  had  a  way  of  looking  at  them  without 
seeing  them,  his  moustache  raised  in  a  slight  snarl,  that 
was  worse  than  deliberate  rudeness.  The  sight  of  even  a 
civilian  untidy  about  the  hair,  necktie,  and  feet,  irritated 
him,  and  .  .  .  Mr.  Ewing  was  an  officer !  Fortunately  he 

»  never  saw  him  in  uniform,  for  difficult  as  it  is  to  achieve, 
my  friend  managed  to  look  even  more  slovenly  in  uniform 
than  in  plain  clothes. 

But  the  worst  was  Papa's  persistent  misreading  of  his 
moral  character.  He  must  have  known  that  bad  digestions 
often  cause  red  noses,  but  in  this  case  it  was  ascribed  to 
Scotch  whiskey ;  and,  most  infuriating  of  all,  artists  being 
in  his  opinion  '  loose  fish/  he  put  his  own  construction 
on  my  mentor's  sentiment  for  me,  which,  though  very  warm 
and  keen,  was  devoid  of  the  slightest  trace  of  lovemaking. 
Nor  were  matters  improved  by  his  learning  from  innocent 
Aunt  Judy  herself  that  her  husband  was  a  successful 
mesmerist — a  talent  cultivated  exclusively,  I  fancy,  in  the 
interest  of  his  wife's  ailments,  but  one  can  imagine  how 
its  possession  endeared  him  to  the  father  of  an  impression- 
able daughter !  Knowing  nothing  whatever  about  what 
goes  on  in  an  artist's  soul,  he  had  no  satisfactory  clue  to 
the  ardour  of  our  alliance,  besides  which,  as  I  noticed  once 
or  twice  in  after  life,  unable  to  sway  me  himself,  he  resented 
my  being  under  the  influence  of  any  other  man.  In  short 
nothing  but  his  reverence  for  Aunt  Judy  and  her  own 
unfailing  tact  and  charm  staved  off  disaster  for  the  time 
being. 

But  it  came  at  last !     I  have  always  had  a  bad  habit 

VOL.  I.  I 


ii4  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED       1875-76 

of  strewing  my  room  with  correspondence,  and  one  of 
Papa's  amiable  weaknesses  was  a  tendency,  as  my  mother 
put  it,  to  '  go  poking  about  one's  writing  table/  On  one 
of  these  occasions  he  found  a  certain  letter  from  Mr.  Ewing 1 
— a  charming  one,  but  hardly  pleasant  reading  for  parents 
and  guardians  !  The  result  was  such  a  terrific  storm  that 
the  harmony  lessons,  which  in  any  case  were  running  to 
a  close,  the  Ewings  being  under  orders  to  leave  Aldershot 
shortly,  came  to  an  abrupt  end. 

My  chief  gain  in  this  companionship  was  of  course  the 
immense  quickening  of  my  musical  life  generally,  and  the 
comfort  of  at  last  feeling  '  the  breath  of  kindred  plumes 
about  my  feet/  I  always  think  of  my  first  musician  friend 
with  amusement,  tenderness,  and  also  great  sadness,  for  if 
ever  nature  fashioned  an  artist  it  was  this  man,  condemned 
by  fate  to  live  and  die  a  drudge  in  the  Army  Service  Corps. 

It  was  during  the  Ewing  epoch  that,  invited  to  stay 
with  the  O'H/s,  I  paid  a  first,  and  certainly  memorable 
visit  to  Ireland.  My  host,  more  amazing  than  ever,  was 
evidently  considered  a  character  even  in  his  own  country, 
but  what  I  chiefly  remember  is  riding  a  good  deal  with  his 
daughter,  who,  as  we  know,  had  '  a  prettier  seat  on  horse- 
back than  any  girl  in  Ireland/  As  a  matter  of  fact  she 
had  a  beautiful  figure,  which  swayed  easily  to  the  canter 
of  a  thoroughbred  that  was  never  allowed  to  trot ;  and  as 
I  scornfully  wrote  home,  under  these  circumstances  it  is 
not  difficult  to  present  a  graceful  appearance  in  the  saddle  ! 
I  even  advanced  with  great  caution  some  such  theory  to 
her  father,  who  replied  with  lightning  rapidity  that  no 
woman  ever  born  could  trot,  and  that  he  would  shoot  any 
female  belonging  to  him  who  made  that  sort  of  Judy  of 
herself. 

His  gentle  wife  was  of  the  opinion  that  if  I  raised  my 
little  finger  I  could  make  an  excellent  match  out  there  with 
a  certain  young  squire,  adding  :  '  You  must  remember 
my  dear,  your  poor  father  has  still  got  four  girls  on  his 
hands ' — a  remark  I  rather  resented  from  the  mother  of 

1  Appendix  i  (d),  p.  145,  No.  9. 


1875-76       THE  SMYTH  FAMILY  ROBINSON  115 


one,  for  in  those  spacious  days  the  Psalmist's  view  of  the 
full  quiver  obtained,  and  we  were  proud  of  our  large  family. 
I  replied  I  was  not  going  to  marry,  having  other  views. 
This  renders  still  more  surprising  the  adventure  that  befell 
me  on  my  homeward  journey. 

On  the  way  out  I  had  b^n  chaperoned  across  the 
water  by  a  delightful,  exceedingly  Irish  friend  of  ours,  wife 
of  the  great  soldier  who  afterwards  became  Field-Marshal 
Sir  Evelyn  Wood,  and  was  to  rejoin  her  at  the  house  of 
her  brother-in-law,  Lord  Fitzgerald,  at  Bray.  There  I  met 
a  young  barrister,  Mr.  William  Wilde,  with  whom  I  played 
tennis,  and  also  discussed  poetry,  the  arts,  and  more  par- 
ticularly philosophy,  in  remoter  parts  of  the  garden.  I 
saw  at  once  he  was  very  clever,  and  after  dinner  found  he 
was  so  musical  as  actually  to  put  ends  of  his  own  to  Chopin's 
Etudes,  for  which,  later  on,  I  might  have  chopped  oft  his 
fingers  with  the  lid  of  the  piano  ;  but  I  then  thought  it 
quite  wonderful  and  was  glad  to  find  this  young  man,  of 
whom  that  great  lawyer  my  host  thought  highly,  was  going 
to  England  next  day  in  our  boat. 

We  boarded  her  after  dinner,  and  Willie  Wilde,  as  they 
all  called  him,  pointed  out  to  me  a  tall  figure  clad  in  dark 
blue,  leaning  over  the  bulwarks  and  gazing  seaward,  as 
'  my  brother  the  poet/  It  was  the  great  Oscar,  who  was 
at  once  introduced,  and  on  whom  it  afterwards  appeared, 
according  to  his  brother,  I  had  the  good  fortune  to  make 
a  favourable  impression.  But  as  he  was  as  yet  unknown 
outside  Oxford  the  fact  left  me  unthrilled. 

The  night  was  glorious,  a  full  moon  and  no  wind,  and 
I  was  surprised  that  Mrs.  Wood  at  once  retired  to  her 
cabin,  for  on  the  outward  journey  the  sea  had  been  like 
a  mill-pond  and  I  thought  the  Irish  Channel  a  much 
maligned  piece  of  water.  Willie  Wilde  produced  rugs  and 
he  and  I  sat  on  deck  discussing  .  .  .  Auguste  Comte  !  Pre- 
sently I  began  to  dislike  the  way  the  mast  moved  slowly 
to  and  fro  across  the  face  of  the  moon,  and  must  have  made 
some  remark  to  that  effect,  for  my  companion  flew  off  to 
fetch  some  brandy  which  he  said  would  put  everything 
right.  The  next  moment  I  was  staggering  on  his  arm  to 
the  ladies'  cabin,  and  before  the  stewardess  could  intervene, 


n6  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED         1875-76 

to  quote  our  old  friend  the  enamoured  priest,  '  the  Fate 
did  come  and  the  Curse  did  fall.'  Willie  Wilde  retired 
hurriedly,  but  I  was  past  caring  who  had  seen  what. 

The  next  thing  I  remember  is  the  train  at  Holyhead 
and  a  long  carriage  with  berths  for  men  at  one  end  and 
for  women  at  the  other,  between  the  two  a  sort  of  loose 
box  with  one  seat  in  it  like  a  small  guard's  van.  Mrs. 
Wood,  the  most  easy-going  chaperone  I  ever  met,  and 
who  herself  had  been  very  sea-sick  all  night,  vanished  into 
the  ladies'  territory,  while  Willie  Wilde  and  I  ensconced 
ourselves  in  the  loose  box,  he  sitting  on  a  Huntley  and 
Palmer's  biscuit-tin  at  my  feet.  And  there,  in  spite  of 
what  had  happened  on  the  boat,  he  seized  my  hand  and 
began  an  impassioned  declaration,  in  the  middle  of  which 
the  biscuit-tin  collapsed.  This  mishap,  which  surely 
would  have  thrown  an  Englishman  out  of  his  stride,  he 
passed  over  with  some  remark  I  have  forgotten,  though 
not  its  Irish  gaiety,  and  resumed  his  tale  of  passion ;  and 
before  the  train  steamed  into  Euston  I  was  engaged  to 
a  man  I  was  no  more  in  love  with  than  I  was  with  the 
engine-driver ! 

At  Euston  we  were  met  by  Major  Wood,  who  adored 
his  wife,  and  were  hustled  across  to  the  Hotel,  my  lover 
being  of  course  of  the  party.  Trains  were  few  and  far 
between  in  those  days,  so  we  decided  to  tidy  up  and  stay 
there  for  some  hours  before  proceeding  to  Waterloo,  it 
being  understood  that  the  Woods  had  letters  to  look  through 
and  momentous  matters  concerning  a  new  appointment  to 
discuss.  They  breakfasted  in  their  own  room  and  we  two 
in  the  Coffee  Room,  and  when  I  ran  upstairs  to  ask  if  I 
might  go  off  with  Willie  Wilde  to  see  some  old  houses 
(really  to  buy  a  ring)  impatient  voices  from  behind  the 
locked  door  answered  in  duet :  '  Yes,  yes,  go  by  all  means/ 
Finally  I  arrived  at  Frimhurst  with  a  gold  band  ending 
in  two  clasped  hands  on  whichever  was  the  correct  finger, 
and  for  once  wearing  gloves,  my  fiance  having  requested 
that  the  affair  be  kept  secret  for  the  present. 

On  reflection  I  found  this  did  not  meet  my  views ; 
averse  to  secrecy  at  all  times,  where  was  the  fun  of  pulling 
off  an  engagement  before  you  are  out  if  no  one  is  to  be 


1875-76       THE  SMYTH  FAMILY  ROBINSON  117 

any  the  wiser  ?  And  then  .  .  .  the  love  letters  began 
to  arrive  !  Now  although  to  propose  to  a  girl  five  hours 
after  you  have  seen  her  being  sea-sick  is  a  proof,  as  I  said 
to  myself,  of  true  love,  and  though  to  go  on  proposing 
after  your  seat  has  given  way  beneath  you  argues  not 
only  passion  but  sense  of  humour,  undefeatedness,  and 
other  admirable  qualities,  the  fact  remains  that  I  had 
accepted  this  young  man  from  flattered  vanity,  light- 
heartedness,  adventurousness,  anything  you  please  except 
love.  Consequently  the  letters,  which  I  have  since  re- 
read, and  which  are  really  very  like  the  genuine  thing, 
rapidly  put  me  off ;  nor  did  I  like  his  gentle  but  continued 
insistence  on  the  article  of  silence.  In  short  before  three 
weeks  were  over,  probably  to  his  secret  relief,  I  had  broken 
off  the  engagement,  adding  that  I  would  like  to  keep  the 
ring  as  a  souvenir !  And  keep  it  I  did,  until  a  year  or 
two  afterwards,  when  I  lost  it  while  separating  two  dogs 
who  were  fighting  in  deep  snow  in  the  heather.  Thus 
ended  my  first  and  last  engagement,  the  hero  of  which 
I  never  saw  again — a  pity,  for  they  say  he  became  even 
a  better  talker  than  his  brother. 

Soon  after  this  adventure,  the  Ewings  having  mean- 
while left  Aldershot,  I  came  out,  but  cannot  remember 
what  my  then  frame  of  mind  was.  I  had  never  dreamed 
of  putting  through  my  musical  plans  till  I  should  be  really 
grown  up — that  would  have  been  too  unreasonable — nor, 
as  I  said,  did  there  seem  any  need  for  special  hurry.  So 
I  suppose  I  thought  it  well  to  take  a  look  at  the  world 
of  real  balls  and  other  festivities  for  which  I  was  now 
qualified. 

On  the  whole  it  did  not  come  up  to  expectations.  I 
loved,  and  still  love,  that  soundest  form  of  entertainment, 
dining  out ;  not  only  from  greediness  and  pleasant  curiosity 
as  to  what  you  are  about  to  receive,  but  because  of  the 
mingling  of  old  and  young,  the  talk  and  laughter,  and 
the  gradual  warming  up  of  the  atmosphere  under  the 
influence  of  good  cheer.  After  dinner  I  was  always  asked 
to  sing  at  once,  and  as  I  took  care  that  no  one  else  should 
get  at  the  piano  the  musical  torture  was  eliminated. 


n8  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED       1875-76 

But  the  balls  !  ...  oh,  the  long  drives  in  a  tight  white 
satin  bodice,  and  the  entreaties  to  sit  still  and  not  crumple 
your  skirt !  My  mother  always  said,  too,  that  towards  the 
middle  of  the  evening  my  head  arrangements  suggested  a 
Bacchante  or  a  Cherokee  Chief,  and  would  waylay  me  in 
corridors  and  tea  rooms,  with  hairpins  plucked  from  her 
own  head — as  a  mother  bird  in  the  interests  of  her  off- 
spring tears  feathers  from  her  breast.  Little  gratitude 
and  much  impatience  was  her  reward.  But  the  dancing 
itself  was  the  greatest  trial.  I  loved  dancing  with  a  delirious 
'  I  wish  I  could  die '  passion,  especially  when  the  music 
appealed  to  me — and  just  then  a  man  who  called  himself 
'  Waldteufel/  no  doubt  an  Austrian,  was  writing  beautiful 
waltzes — but  alas  !  only  one  in  ten  partners  had  any  notion 
of  time,  and  what  made  it  worse,  the  nine  were  always 
behind,  never  before  the  beat.  Then  it  was  that  I  would 
hear  a  pretentious,  fraudulent,  utterly  idiotic  phrase  which 
I  hope  is  no  longer  current  in  ball-rooms  :  '  I  generally  dance 
half-time '  (!)  Sometimes  I  would  firmly  seize  smaller, 
lighter  partners  by  the  scruff  of  the  neck,  so  to  speak, 
and  whirl  them  along  in  the  way  they  should  go,  but  I 
saw  they  were  not  enjoying  themselves,  and  oddly  enough 
I  wanted  these  wretches  to  like  dancing  with  me. 

Another  thing  ;  years  had  not  yet  purged  me  of  snobbish- 
ness, and  I  noticed  that  the  '  smart '  young  men,  being 
I  suppose  above  such  considerations,  were  the  worst  time- 
keepers of  all ;  so  that  if  I  did  not  wish  to  be  driven  frantic 
I  must  dance  with  the  cads.  And  on  the  way  home  my 
father  would  suddenly  ask  from  his  corner  of  the  carriage  : 
'  Who  was  that  nasty  looking  fellow  you  were  dancing  with 
so  much  ?  '  (He  always  pronounced  his  a's  in  north- 
country  fashion,  as  in  the  word  '  cap/  which  made  the 
adjective  still  more  damaging.)  Since  then  I  have  come 
to  the  conclusion  that  the  best  sort  of  Englishman  we  breed 
nowadays,  however  it  may  have  been  in  Shakespere's 
time,  is  '  the  man  that  hath  not  music  in  his  soul/  or  indeed 
artistic  proclivities  of  any  kind.  There  are  exceptions  of 
course,  such  as  my  dear  Mr.  Ewing  and  others  I  could 
name,  but  I  fear  the  rule  holds  good. 

Nor  were  these  the  only  drawbacks  ;  if  I  went  to  a  ball 


1875-76       THE  SMYTH  FAMILY  ROBINSON  119 

it  was  to  dance,  and  for  no  other  reason,  but  I  soon  found 
out  this  is  a  very  incomplete  theory  of  balls.  Being  a  self- 
sufficing  person,  who  didn't  want  to  cling  or  be  clung  to 
except  in  the  way  of  dancing,  what  was  I  doing  in  this 
ante-chamber  of  matrimony,  the  ball-room  ?  It  was  the 
old  trouble  cropping  up  again  of  knowing  that  between 
my  world  and  me  a  gulf  was  fixed,  that  I  was  a  wolf  in 
sheep's  clothing,  in  fact  a  fraud.  Talent  for  flirtation 
I  had  none — that  wants  another  temperament,  not 
passionate  but  either  light  or  sensual — and  my  attempts 
were  amateurish  and  half-hearted,  like  the  childish  love- 
affairs  with  schoolboys.  Then  too  there  was  the  humiliating 
infuriating  idea,  that  if  I  was  '  nice '  to  a  man  he  would 
think  I  wanted  to  marry  him!  Notwithstanding  these 
disabilities,  being  young  and  not  ugly  I  did  pull  off  one  or 
two  little  flirtations,  or  rather  had  an  admirer  here  and 
there  whom  I  fear  I  encouraged  with  a  view  to  starting  a 
'  proposal  list/  But  nothing  much  resulted. 

There  was,  however,  one  passing  moment  of  sentimental 
weakness,  and  consequent  unfaithfulness  to  my  big  purpose, 
which  must  be  recorded.  I  had  a  friend,  not  a  '  passion '  for 
once  but  a  clever  well-read  woman,  whose  brother  I  fancied 
myself  in  love  with.  I  mention  her,  because  on  one  or 
two  other  occasions  I  had  the  same  illusion  respecting 
near  relations  of  women  friends  and  explain  it  thus :  the 
sun  I  revolved  round  illumined  another  body  which,  in 
defiance  of  such  astronomical  knowledge  as  I  possessed, 
was  taken  for  another  fiery  globe  instead  of  merely  a  dead 
moon.  It  is  not  fair  however  to  speak  thus  of  my  young 
man  as  I  thought  him  then,  for  besides  being  extraordinarily 
good-looking  in  the  style  I  most  admired — fair  with  blue 
eyes — he  was  anything  but  a  fool,  and  one  of  the  smartest 
officers  in  a  celebrated  cavalry  regiment. 

Whether  he  did,  or  did  not,  deliberately  trifle  with  my 
young  affections  I  cannot  say,  but  when  one  day  at  a  ball 
at  East  Horseley  Towers  he  asked  me  to  come  into  the 
conservatory  as  he  had  something  to  tell  me  before  his 
regiment  left  Aldershot,  I  had  no  doubt  as  to  what  was 
coming,  and  if  he  had  proposed  to  me  think  I  should  have 
accepted  him,  though  the  affair  would  certainly  have  ended 


120  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED       1875-76 

as  did  the  bogus  engagement  to  Willie  Wilde.  What 
happened  however  was,  that  he  took  from  his  breast-pocket 
the  likeness  of  a  perfectly  lovely  girl  to  whom  he  said  he 
was  going  to  propose  next  week  ! .  .  .  This  was  rather  a 
shock,  but  I  kept  a  stiff  upper  lip  and  wished  him  luck.  If 
I  was  unhappy  about  it,  all  I  can  say  is,  it  has  left  no  trace 
in  my  memory.  He  married  the  girl,  had  a  most  miserable 
and  tragic  life  with  her,  and  afterwards  was  supposed  to 
have  shot  himself  by  accident  on  a  big-game  expedition, 
— but  no  one  really  believed  it  was  an  accident. 

This  ghost  of  a  love  affair  was  my  last  glance  back  from 
the  plough,  and  the  fight  for  freedom  was  soon  to  begin 
in  grim  earnest. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

1876    AND  1877 

IN  spite  of  these  social  perturbations,  for  I  won't  quite 
call  them  pleasures,  music  ran  her  course  more  or  less  fit- 
fully. One  day  I  went  with  the  Ewings  to  a  Wagner  concert, 
and  was  introduced  to  her  brother,  Alfred  Scott  Gatty, 
the  successful  song-writer,  who,  knowing  his  brother-in- 
law's  soaring  spirit,  entreated  me  above  all  things  not  to 
aim  high ;  '  it's  not  the  slightest  use  '  he  added,  and  I  rather 
think  he  was  speaking  seriously.  Wagner,  who  was  almost 
unknown  in  England,  had  rashly  contracted  for  a  series 
of  concerts  conducted  by  himself,  which  I  afterwards  heard 
were  a  failure  financially.  My  party  were  all  hard  up,  and 
we  sat  so  far  away  from  the  platform  that  all  I  saw  was 
an  undersized  man  with  a  huge  head,  apparently  in  a 
towering  rage  from  start  to  finish  of  the  concert ;  I  thought 
he  could  hardly  refrain  from  whacking  heads  right  and  left 
instead  of  merely  the  desk.  No  doubt  the  performance 
was  insufficiently  rehearsed  and  execrable,  anyhow  I  was 
not  as  much  carried  away  as  I  expected. 

As  yet  though  there  had  been  a  great  deal  of  simmer- 
ing I  was  not  in  open  disgrace  with  my  father ;  he  used 
even  to  do  unexpected  kind  little  things.  For  instance 
Aunt  Susan  had  given  me  prints  of  some  of  my  favourite 
pictures  in  the  National  Gallery — Bellini's  Doge  was  one — 
and  suddenly  he  told  me  to  get  them  framed  and  put 
it  down  to  him ;  perhaps  he  wished  to  rub  in  that  there 
are  blameless  forms  of  art-devotion.  Two  things,  my  love 
of  riding  and  a  growing  interest  in  politics,  threw  a  frail 
bridge  of  sympathy  between  us  at  times,  and  shortly 
before  the  crisis  he  presented  me  with  a  filly  he  had  bred, 

121 


122  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED       1876-77 

and  let  me  break  her,  which  amused  me  and  saved  him 
expense.  I  schooled  her  regularly  over  the  home  fences, 
and  as  I  was  allowed  to  ride  out  alone — the  least  trouble- 
some form  of  locomotion  for  the  stable  hands — I  used  to 
lark  her  surreptitiously  over  neighbours'  hedges.  There 
is  a  field  near  Cove,  now  full  of  aircraft  sheds,  where  I 
once  lay  in  a  ditch,  the  filly  on  top  of  me,  for  quite  ten 
minutes  before  I  could  wriggle  myself  free. 

I  did  a  certain  amount  of  country  house  visiting.  To 
be  inspected  on  coming  out  by  the  head  of  my  mother's 
family,  Sir  Henry  Stracey,  was  a  ceremony  that  ranked 
only  second  to  presentation  at  Court,  and  I  recollect  that 
on  the  way  down  to  Rackheath  I  got  a  bit  of  coal  dust 
into  my  eye  and  arrived  with  it  bunged  up.  As  usual 
there  was  no  weak  display  of  pity,  only  extreme  irritation 
on  my  mother's  part  at  such  a  thing  happening  '  just  when 
I  wanted  you  to  look  your  best  for  Uncle  Henry.'  The 
Straceys  of  that  generation  were  the  most  musical  family  I 
ever  met  in  England,  and  I  remember  saying  naively  to  my 
cousin  Diana :  '  Why,  you're  almost  as  musical  as  me  ! ' 

Another  visit  that  left  an  impression  was  one  paid 
with  my  father  to  his  life-long  friend  Mr.  Staniforth  of 
Windermere,  an  immensely  rich  old  Quaker  of  purest  breed, 
who  wore  a  broad-brimmed  beaver  hat,  had  never  crossed 
the  sea,  and  nevertheless  was  a  tremendous  power  in  the 
county.  He  was  greatly  entertained  at  learning  that  my 
luggage  consisted  of  eight  hats,  no  extra  boots,  and  no 
nightgown,  I  having  packed  for  myself  ;  also  at  my  address- 
ing from  his  house  a  tremendous  letter  to  the  Times  about 
'  English  Apathy  as  regards  Wagner/  I  had  already  trans- 
lated two  or  three  articles  from  Schumann's  delightful 
'  Music  and  Musicians '  for  Macmillans  Magazine,  and 
hopes  had  been  held  out  that  further  translations  would 
be  favourably  considered ;  hence  I  was  surprised  and  dis- 
gusted to  receive  a  polite  intimation  that  my  letter  would 
not  appear  in  the  columns  of  the  Times. 

Of  course  too  there  were  visits  to  the  married  sisters. 
While  staying  with  Alice  and  Harry  Davidson  in  Edinburgh 
I  wrote  the  ballad  '  Schon  Rothraut/  with  which  I  was 
soon  to  sing  myself  into  musical  circles  at  Leipzig — also 


i876-77       THE  SMYTH  FAMILY  ROBINSON  123 

went  to  balls,  and  was  entranced  by  what  I  had  never 
seen  before,  reels  danced  in  costume  and  to  perfection. 
On  the  way  home  I  stayed  with  Mary  and  Charlie  Hunter 
in  Northumberland,  going  out  hunting  on  the  only  animal 
that  could  be  raised  for  me — a  huge  heavy  horse  that  drew 
old  Mr.  Hunter's  coal  cart,  and  was  supposed  never  to 
have  jumped  a  fence  in  its  life.  On  that  day  it  got  over 
or  through  a  good  many — one  could  hardly  call  it  jumping 
— and  I  enjoyed  myself  immensely.  But  all  the  time  the 
conviction  grew  and  grew  that  nothing  was  any  good  save 
one  thing,  and  that  go  to  Leipzig  I  must. 

Occasionally,  though  very  rarely,  I  went  to  a  concert 
in  London,  being  met  at  Waterloo  and  convoyed  to  St. 
James's  Hall  by  some  approved  friend,  or  perhaps  by  Aunt 
Susan's  maid,  and  on  one  occasion  was  actually  presented 
to  Frau  Schumann  and  her  daughters.  This  great  event 
was  engineered  by  a  friend  of  mine,  Mrs.  George  Schwabe, 
of  whom  more  will  be  related  presently,  whose  mother- 
in-law — another  personality  who  will  reappear  in  these 
pages — was  an  old  friend  of  Frau  Schumann's.  The  extra- 
ordinary thing  is  that  in  the  blaze  of  impressions  I  was 
to  gain  in  after  life  of  that  wonderful  woman,  all  recol- 
lections of  our  first  meeting  have  faded,  but  I  gather  from 
a  remark  in  one  of  Mr.  Ewing's  letters  that  she  gave  my 
musical  aspirations  her  blessing.  She  could  do  no  less  ! 

Soon  after  I  struck  what  may  rank  as  a  half -milestone 
in  my  journey  ;  for  the  first  time  I  heard  Brahms.  The 
occasion  was  a  Saturday  Popular  Concert  at  which  the 
'  Liebeslieder  Waltzer  '  were  sung  by  four  persons,  three 
of  whom  (the  Germans)  knew  the  composer  personally  and 
afterwards  became  factors  in  my  life.  They  were  Frauleins 
Friedlander  and  Redeker,  Mr.  Shakespeare  and  George 
Henschel.  That  day  I  saw  the  whole  Brahms ;  other 
bigger,  and,  to  use  the  language  of  pedants,  more  important 
works  of  his  were  to  kindle  fresh  fires  later  on,  but  his 
genius  possessed  me  then  and  there  in  a  flash.  I  went 
home  with  a  definite  resolution  in  my  heart.  ,  .  . 

That  night  there  was  a  discussion  at  dinner  as  to  which 
Drawing  Room  I  had  better  be  presented  at.  Suddenly 


124  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED       1676-77 

I  announced  it  was  useless  to  present  me  at  all,  since  I 
intended  to  go  to  Leipzig,  even  if  I  had  to  run  away  from 
home,  and  starve  when  I  got  there.  .  .  . 

I  almost  despair  of  anyone  believing  to-day,  so  quickly 
has  the  world  moved  since  then,  what  such  a  step  stood 
for  in  my  father's  mind.  We  knew  no  artists,  and  to  him 
the  word  simply  meant  people  who  are  out  to  break  the 
ten  commandments.  It  is  no  exaggeration  to  say  that  the 
life  I  proposed  to  lead  seemed  to  him  equivalent  to  going 
on  the  streets  ;  hence  the  strange  phrase  he  hurled  at  me, 
harking  back  in  his  fury  to  the  language  of  Webster's  or 
Congreve's  outraged  fathers :  *  I  would  sooner  see  you 
under  the  sod/ 

After  a  period  of  vain  efforts  to  overcome  his  resistance, 
which  became  so  terrific  that  it  was  no  longer  possible  to 
broach  the  subject  at  all,  I  quite  deliberately  adopted  the 
methods  used  years  afterwards  in  political  warfare  by  other 
women,  who,  having  plumbed  the  depths  of  masculine 
prejudice,  came  to  see  this  was  the  only  road  to  victory. 
I  not  only  unfurled  the  red  flag,  but  determined  to  make 
life  at  home  so  intolerable  that  they  would  have  to  let  me 
go  for  their  own  sakes.  (I  say  *  they/  but  here  again  I 
felt  that,  whatever  my  mother  might  say  in  public,  she 
was  secretly  with  me.)  In  those  days  no  decent  girls 
travelled  alone,  third  class  and  omnibuses  were  things 
unheard  of  in  our  world,  and  I  had  no  money  ;  but  I  would 
slip  away  across  the  fields  to  Farnborough  Station,  travel 
third  to  London,  and  proceed  by  omnibus  to  any  concert 
I  fancied.  The  money  difficulty  was  met  by  borrowing 
5s.  from  tradesmen  we  dealt  with  on  the  Green,  or  the 
postman,  '  to  be  put  down  to  the  General/  In  order  to 
be  close  to  Joachim  and  his  companions  I  would  stand 
for  hours  in  the  queue  at  St.  James's  Hall,  and  ah  !  the 
revelation  of  hearing  Schubert's  A  Minor  quartett !  .  .  . 
All  my  life  his  music  has  been  perhaps  nearer  my  heart 
than  any  other — that  crystal  stream  welling  and  welling 
for  ever.  .  .  . 

From  my  place  I  used  to  watch  George  Eliot  and  her 
husband  sitting  together  in  the  stalls  like  two  elderly  love- 


1876-77       THE  SMYTH  FAMILY  ROBINSON  125 

birds,  and  was  irritated  by  Lewes's  habit  of  beating  time 
on  her  arm  with  his  pince-nez.  There  is  a  well-known 
syncopated  passage  in  Beethoven's  Quartett,  Op.  132,  and  I 
noted  with  scornful  amusement  how  the  eyeglass,  after  a 
moment  of  hesitation,  would  begin  marking  the  wrong  beat, 
again  hover  uncertainly,  and  presently  resume  the  right  one 
with  triumphant  emphasis  as  if  nothing  had  happened. 
All  this  George  Eliot  took  as  calmly  as  if  she  were  the 
Sphinx,  and  Lewes  an  Arab  brushing  flies  off  her  massive 
flanks. 

The  greatest  excitement  was  one  day  when  with  beating 
heart  I  forced  my  way  past  Mr.  Chappell's  Cerberus  into 
the  Artists'  Room — a  place  more  sacredly  awful  to  me  than 
the  Holy  of  Holies  can  ever  have  been  to  young  Levite — 
and  made  the  acquaintance  of  Frauleins  Friedlander  and 
Redeker,  expressed  to  them  my  admiration  of  their  singing, 
and  fell  madly  in  love  with  Redeker,  whose  rendering  of 
that  divine  love-song  :  '  Wie  bist  du  meine  Konigin  '  had 
all  but  torn  the  heart  out  of  my  body.  They  were  good- 
naturedly  touched  by  such  enthusiasm  and  begged  me  to 
come  and  see  them  some  morning,  which  I  did,  cHmbing 
up  stairs  upon  stairs  to  the  room  they  shared.  It  was  at 
ii  a.m.,  they  were  in  deshabille,  the  beds  unmade,  and 
they  were  sipping  port  out  of  an  egg-cup.  This  unaccus- 
tomed sight  gave  me  rather  a  shock,  and  for  a  moment  I 
thought  of  my  father,  but  supposed  it  was  just  part  of  the 
artist  life  ;  and  indeed  a  few  months  later  such  a  spectacle 
would  have  made  no  more  impression  on  me  than  did 
Mr.  Lewes's  eyeglass  on  George  Eliot. 

My  financial  arrangements  with  the  tradesmen  came  out 
of  course,  as  they  were  meant  to,  and  to  my  father's  ragings 
I  stubbornly  replied  :  '  You  won't  let  me  go  to  Leipzig  so 
of  course  I  have  to  go  to  London  to  hear  music/  From 
this  moment  he  became  convinced  that,  freed  from  control, 
I  should  squander  money  right  and  left,  and  one  of  the 
stock  phrases  was  :  '  We  shall  have  to  sell  your  mother's 
diamonds  ' — a  calamity  that  ranked  in  our  minds  with 
expedients  such  as  debasing  the  coinage.  But  in  this 
phrase  I  thought  I  saw  a  weakening  of  will ;  he  was  actually 
considering  possible  consequences  of  surrender  !  .  .  . 


I26  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED       1876-77 

I  had  a  few  friends  who  backed  me  up  more  or  less 
openly  and  were  consequently  looked  on  with  disfavour 
at  home.  To  this  rule  Barbara  Hamley,  now  Lady  Ernie, 
proved  an  exception,  contriving  in  a  miraculous  manner 
to  be  my  friend  and  yet  keep  on  excellent  terms  with  the 
parents,  who  delighted  in  her.  She  effected  this  miracle 
by  a  blend  of  tact,  reasonableness,  and  sense  of  humour 
that  must  have  oiled  many  locks  in  her  course  through  life  ; 
moreover,  but  for  her  sympathy  with  the  Frimhurst  rebel, 
she  was  a  perfectly  normal,  model  young  lady,  who  kept 
house  with  great  success  for  her  adored  and  adoring  uncle 
Sir  Edward  Hamley,  then  Commandant  of  the  Staff  College 
(one  of  whose  sympathetic  traits  was  a  great  admiration 
for  my  mother).  Thus  she  was  in  a  favourable  situation 
for  operations,  and  her  championship  of  me  included  a 
useful  element — full  comprehension  of  my  father's  point 
of  view. 

Not  so  that  of  Mrs.  George  Schwabe,  daughter  of  Lord 
Justice  James,  a  clever,  hard  riding,  whist-playing,  par- 
ticularly cherished  friend  of  mine,  who  as  radical,  and  one 
justly  suspected  of  unorthodox  views  on  religion,  naturally 
considered  this  opposition  to  my  German  plans  ridiculous 
and  out  of  date.  So  too  did  Mrs.  Napier,  wife  of  her  first 
cousin  General  William  Napier  (the  historian's  son),  who 
was  then  in  command — or  rather  Mrs.  Napier  was  in  com- 
mand— at  Sandhurst.  This  delightful  champion  of  mine 
had  rebel  blood  in  her  own  veins,  her  father,  fierce  eagle- 
eyed  Sir  Charles  Napier,  whom  his  daughter  was  as  like 
as  two  peas,  having  eloped  with  her  mother,  a  Greek.  It 
goes  without  saying  that  these  two  friends  of  mine  were 
constant  subjects  of  strife,  and  if  my  mother,  jealous  by 
nature,  was  specially  so  in  these  cases,  who  can  wonder  ? 
It  was  all  very  well  for  Mrs.  Napier  to  say  right  and  left : 
'  Of  course  dear  little  Ethel  must  go  to  Leipzig ' — to  say 
it  even  to  my  parents  themselves,  which  she  did,  for  she 
came  of  a  fearless  stock.  She  was  not  my  mother,  she  had 
not  to  endure  daily  scenes  with  my  father — scenes  which 
became  more  frequent  and  furious  as  time  went  on.  For 
towards  the  end  I  struck  altogether,  refused  to  go  to  Church, 
refused  to  sing  at  our  dinner-parties,  refused  to  go  out 


1876-77       THE  SMYTH  FAMILY  ROBINSON  127 

riding,  refused  to  speak  to  any  one,  and  one  day  my  father's 
boot  all  but  penetrated  a  panel  of  my  locked  bedroom 
door  !  .  .  . 

•  •  •  •  •  • 

There  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  capitulate !  Fraulein 
Friedlander  was  able,  by  some  miracle,  to  produce  adequate 
testimony  to  the  respectability  of  her  aunt,  Frau  Professor 
Heimbach,  who  lived  at  Leipzig,  and  would  certainly  be 
willing  to  take  me  under  her  wing  till  her  very  own  mother 
had  a  room  at  my  disposal ;  the  terms  suggested  confirmed 
Mary  Schwabe's  reports  as  to  the  cheapness  of  life  in 
Germany ;  my  father  named  the  maximum  of  allowance 
he  could  make  me ;  it  was  pronounced  to  be  sufficient, 
with  care  ;  and  finally,  on  July  26,  1877,  under  the  charge 
of  Harry  Davidson  who  knew  Germany  well,  I  was  packed 
off,  on  trial  and  in  deep  disgrace,  but  too  madly  happy  to 
mind  about  that,  to  the  haven  of  my  seven  years'  longing. 


APPENDIX  I 

PP.    128   TO   148 

PAGE 

(a)  LETTER  FROM  MRS.  OPIE,  MARCH  1848         .        .  128 

(b)  LETTERS  FROM  S.D.,  A  SCHOOLBOY  ADMIRER  AGED 

THIRTEEN       .       V       .      ••• ; ,      *        .        .  129 

(c)  LETTERS  FROM  MY  MOTHER,  1873-1875  .        .        .132 

(d)  LETTERS   FROM   ALEXANDER   EWING,  ESQ.,  1876- 

1877 137 


w 

FROM  AMELIA  OPIE  TO  MY  GRANDMOTHER,  ON  THE  OCCA- 
SION OF  MY  FATHER'S  ENGAGEMENT  TO  MY  MOTHER. 

[Note. — /  give  this  letter  chiefly  because  of  the  tribute  to 
Bonnemaman  ;  also  because  I  like  to  think  that  Mrs.  Opie, 
by  that  time  immersed  in  good  works,  nevertheless  took  pleasure 
in  alluding  to  her  former  brilliant  career  in  the  world  of  fashion.] 

Castle  Meadow  :   March  12,  1848. 

My  dear  Friend, — Captain  Smyth's  engagement  to  the 
young  lady  whose  lovely  mother  I  met  at  General  Lafayette's 
in  Paris  some  years  ago,  was  an  agreeable  surprise  to  me, 
and  I  heartily  congratulate  you  all  on  so  desirable  an  event. 
Obliged  as  he  will  be  some  months  hence  to  return  to  his 
duties  in  India,  I  rejoice  to  learn  that  the  pain  he  may 
feel  in  leaving  those  other  duties  which  he  so  well  and 
affectionately  fulfilled  at  home  will  be  mitigated  by  the 
consciousness  that  he  carries  with  him  to  his  distant  home 

128 


1848-77       THE  SMYTH  FAMILY  ROBINSON  129 

such  a  charming  and  accomplished  companion  as,  I  am 
told,  the  bride  is. 

My  cough  and  cold  are  really  better  to-day  and  I  hope 
to  be  at  the  Deanery  on  the  evening  of  the  i5th  of  this  month 
and  meet  thy  daughter  there. 

With  kindest  regards  to  thee  and  thy  family, 

I  am  thy  sympathizer  and  sincere  friend, 

AMELIA  OPIE. 


FROM  S.  D.  (A  SCHOOLBOY  ADMIRER,  AGED  13). 

[Note.  —  '  5.  D.'  was  the  son  of  country  neighbours  of 
ours.  His  great  obsession  was  to  be  '  gentlemanly  '  —  an 
ambition  which  somewhat  tempers  the  ardours  of  his  thirteen 
years  ;  nevertheless  our  relations,  though  tender,  seem  to 
have  lacked  the  repose  characteristic  of  the  type  he  aimed  at. 
It  will  be  noticed  that  the  references  to  Mary  grow  more  and 
more  insistent,  and  as  No.  8  is  the  last  letter  of  the  series,  I 
imagine  that  soon  after  it  was  written  the  usual  transfer  of 
affection  took  place.] 

(i) 

My  very  dearest  Ethel,  —  I  beg  and  beseech  you  not 
to  be  angry  with  me  for  not  writing  before,  but  I  do  assure 
you  on  my  word  of  honour  that  I  have  not  a  bit  of  time 
in  this  beastly  place  to  write  letters,  not  even  to  you.  I 
took  your  sentence  and  read  it  over  again  several  times, 
and  when  I  found  out  what  it  meant  I  was  very  glad. 
Hurrah,  hurrah,  the  holidays  are  soon  coming  and  then 
won't  we  have  a  lark  ?  Why  I  declare  it  will  be  as  good 
as  donkey  riding  to  see  you  skating  away  as  gracefully  as 
a  swallow  skims  the  earth,  doing  the  outside  and  inside 
edge  which  I  hear  you  do  splendidly.  I  mean  to  learn 
and  skate  and  then  perhaps  I  may  have  the  long  looked-for 
pleasure  and  honour  of  skating  with  you.  I  hope  you 
have  quite  forgiven  me  for  my  ungentlemanly  conduct, 
but  I  assure  you  I  did  not  mean  to  be  hauty  and  grand, 
in  fact  it  never  entered  into  my  mind.  I  have  another 
thing  to  ask,  if  Mary  has  quite  forgiven  me  for  getting 
her  into  such  a  scrape  and  not  getting  her  out  of  it. 

With  the  old  usual  fond  love  I  remain  ever 

Your  most  devoted  loving  friend  for  ever, 

S. 

VOL.  I.  K 


I3o  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED        .848-77 

(2) 

My  dearest  Ethel, — I  must  say  I  was  greatly  offended, 
but  however  there  is  an  old  saying  '  all's  well  that  ends 
well '  and  as  you  have  greatly  improved  my  temper  I  have 
quite  forgotten  it.  Please  do  not  say  anything  more 
about  the  locket,  it  was  hardly  worth  giving  to  you  and  you 
know  I  hate  flattery,  but  then  of  course  I  don't  mind  it 
iromyou.  How  is  that  dear  darling  BEAST  R.  S.  ?  I  hope 
very  ill.  If  you  go  to  see  the  Mater  will  you  give  my 
poor  old  dog  a  kiss  from  me,  and  tell  Mary  to  give  Jack's 
dog  Sailor  one.  I  know  Brin  will  not  bite  you,  because, 
like  his  master,  he  is  very  particular.  .  .  . 

(3) 

.  .  .  Have  you  been  riding  that  happy  donkey  again, 
and  have  you  been  up  in  the  Royal  Ethel l  again  ?  Do  you 
remember  our  seat  at  the  top  ?  Oh  those  happy  rides 
even  on  donkeys  !  !  Jack  has  gone  back  to  Harrow.  I 
forgot  to  tell  you  one  of  the  R —  girls  is  in  love  with  him  but 
of  course  he  does  not  return  it  as  his  views  are  somewhere 
else!!!  .  .  . 

I  will  wear  the  ring  always  for  your  own  dear  sake.  .    .    . 

(4)    .v  ,'; ...      i 

...  I  hope  you  don't  think  I  was  rude  that  evening 
in  not  paying  you  any  attention  ;  it  was  because  you  were 
painting  and  I  thought  you  would  not  care  to  talk.  Now 
I  am  going  to  ask  you  a  serious  question,  but  think  it  well 
over  before  you  reply ;  and  that  is  have  you  forgiven  me 
enough  to  ride  with  me  in  the  holidays,  not  on  donkeys 
but  on  ponies  ?  Because  I  am  going  to  ask  the  Governor 
to  borrow  that  pony  again  for  me,  as  he  is  better  than 
nothing  and  goes  splendidly  with  spurs.  Mind  you  think 
before  you  answer. 

In  case  you  should  hear  of  it  I  daresay  you  will  wonder 
why  I  do  not  wear  the  ring,  but  that  is  far  too  precious  to 
wear  at  school :  why,  the  fellows  would  have  it  off  and 
break  it  in  a  very  short  time.  Was  it  not  odd  the  other 
day  when  some  of  the  fellows  were  telling  us  ghost  stories 
that  one  of  them  should  tell  the  one  you  told  me  in  that 

1  An  oak-tree. 


1848-77       THE  SMYTH  FAMILY  ROBINSON  131 

dear  darling  oak  tree  where  I  have  spent  some  of  the  happiest 
hours  of  my  life  about? 

With  the  fondest  love  possible,  I  remain  ever  my  very 
dearest  Ethel  your  most  loving  friend  for  ever. 

S. 

P.S. — The  scratchings  out  are  only  mistakes. 

(5) 

.  .  .  Now  that  we  are  friends  again  I  must  tell  you 
something  I  was  not  quite  honest  about,  that  is  I  lost  the 
ring,  but  still  I  thought  I  would  not  tell  you  just  then  but 
wait  and  see  if  I  would  not  find  it :  imagine  my  delight 
and  joy  when  I  found  it  lying  on  the  washing-stand,  where 
it  must  have  been  lying  several  days,  and  now  it  is  looking 
as  pretty  as  ever  on  my  finger,  with  the  white  stone  upwards. 
I  am  in  such  spirits  about  finding  the  ring  that  I  have 
been  jumping  about,  and  have  just  fallen  off  my  chair  : 
of  course  that  is  not  the  only  reason  ;  the  great  reason  is 
that  sweet  letter  from  you.  .  .  . 

I  am  sorry  to  hear  Mary  and  Neaner  have  colds  :  colds 
are  such  horrible  things  are  they  not  ?  .  .  .  I  heard  Alice 
looked  charming,  but  I  should  think  she  felt  rather  nervous 
when  she  was  making  her  bow.  I  should  like  to  see  you  at 
your  first  Drawing  Room  :  you  would  not  feel  nervous, 
would  you  ?  nor  would  Mary  I  should  think.  ...  I  hope 
you  saw  your  name  in  Sheldrake's  paper.  I  am  pleased 
to  hear  he  told  the  truth  for  once,  because  of  course  you 
played  beautifully  as  you  always  do,  because  you  couldn't 
help  it.  ...  Remember  me  kindly  to  Mary.  I  dare  not 
send  my  love  because  old  Jack  would  be  angry.  .  .  . 

(6) 

Dearest  Ethel, — A  million  thanks  for  your  charming 
note  :  it  seems  a  year  since  I  saw  you  last ;  not  that  I 
shall  ever  forget  the  happiest  days  I  ever  spent  in  my 
life,  which  were  at  Frimhurst !  oh  it  was  a  jolly  time  was 
it  not  ?  I  am  going  with  the  J's  to  see  a  cricket  match 
between  Harrow  and  Aldershot.  I  expect  we  shall  get  an 
awful  licking  (I  mean  Harrow)  as  they  have  got  the  weakest 
eleven  that  ever  was  known  ;  at  least  I  should  think  so. 
But  then  you  see  they  make  up  for  it  by  football,  which 
they  can  lick  any  school  Colledge  or  university  at  in  the 


132  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED       i848-77 

world.  .  .  .  We  are  going  to  the  W's  which  is  about  nine 
miles  off  Frimley,  and  as  he  has  a  pony  perhaps  we  shall 
be  able  to  have  what  I  have  so  long  wished  for,  a  pony  ride 
together.  .  .  .  It  is  all  humbug  about  my  liking  the  youngest 
Miss  J.  I  only  did  it  to  chaff  you,  only  I  am  afraid  I  have 
offended  you.  Knowing  your  SWEET  temper  I  know  you 
will  forgive  me  because  I  am  awfully  sorry  about  it. 

Your  loving  friend, 

S. 
(7) 

...  I  am  riding  such  a  beautiful  cob  ;  people  say  he 
does  his  18  miles  in  the  hour.  I  thought  of  you  and  how 
you  would  enjoy  it.  I  do  wish  I  could  come  over  and  see 
your  darling  self,  but  you  see  people  won't  lend  their  ponies 
to  do  26  miles,  for  its  13  from  here  at  least.  .  .  .  Please,  as 
old  Jack  is  not  there,  give  my  love  to  Mary  if  I  may  venture 
to  send  it.  ... 


My  dearest  Ethel,  —  I  daresay  you  wondered  why  I 
did  not  keep  my  promise  in  coming  to  see  you,  but  the 
Governor  made  us  come  up  to  London  or  you  may  be  sure 
I  should  not  have  missed  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you.  .  .  . 
I  went  to  a  Pantomime  last  night  and  enjoyed  it  as  much 
as  I  could  without  you  being  there.  ...  I  am  longing  for 
the  pleasure  of  seeing  you,  once  more  only.  I  brought 
the  little  squirrel  up  here  with  me,  he  is  just  as  tame  as 
ever  and  hops  about  like  a  child.  .  .  . 

Please  write  to  me  if  you  can  spare  the  time.  I  must 
not  ask  Mary  to  write  or  dear  old  Jack  may  not  like  it.  .  .  . 


FROM  MY  MOTHER 

[Note. — These  early  letters  of  my  Mother's  are  included 
mainly  because  she  was  my  Mother.  Letters  were  not  her 
medium,  partly  owing  to  a  rheumatic  thumb  which  often  made 
writing  a  painful  effort.  Still,  given  her  turn  of  mind,  it 
is  amazing  to  find  her  passing  on  square  roots  as  a  matter  of 
course,  and  I  think  too  that  the  conflict  of  preoccupations  in 
the  Confirmation  letters  will  appeal  to  other  Mamas.] 


1848-77       THE  SMYTH  FAMILY  ROBINSON  133 

(i) 

(Before  our  Confirmation) 

1873- 

My  darling  Ettie, — Your  letter  interested  and  pleased 
me  more  than  I  can  express.  God  bless  you,  my  two 
darling  girls,  and  may  He  make  this  time  the  turning 
point  in  your  lives.  What  a  charming  person  Mr.  —  must 
be  !  You  must  tell  him  I  often  think  of  him  with  a  grate- 
ful heart  for  his  kind  interest  in  my  children. 

Your  confirmation  dresses  are  in  course  of  progress 
and  will  be,  I  hope,  just  what  they  ought  to  be.  I  hope 
your  old  prints  still  fit.  There  are  two  very  pretty  ones 
making  for  each  of  you,  one  pink  and  the  other  blue. 

We  dined  at  the  Burrells  on  Friday  and  met  besides  the 
Rectory  party  that  nice  little  Mrs.  Merries  and  a  Captain 
and  Mrs.  Hitchcock  from  the  Staff  College.  Emily  looked 
and  was  charming  ;  she  spoke  so  nicely  and  affectionately 
of  you  both.  She  was  in  her  black  and  yellow.  Her  friend 
Miss  Mortimer  looked  very  pretty,  but  was  wonderfully 
dressed,  like  a  jockey,  in  a  pale  yellow  silk  with  long  sleeves, 
a  tight  blue  satin  bodice  sleeveless,  and  blue  satin  skirt,  and 
blue  satin  stripes  across  the  yellow  sleeves  ;  a  very  tight 
yellow  silk  skirt  and  very  bunchy  blue  satin  panier — one 
blue  and  one  yellow  feather  in  her  hair  !  ! 

We  are  all  going  to  the  Staff  College  ball  on  Tuesday 
and  to  the  State  Ball  on  Wednesday,  for  which  Alice  has 
a  very  pretty  new  blue  Balldress. 

You  heard  what  a  favorable  verdict  the  doctor  gave 
about  Johnny  on  Wednesday.  They  say  there  is  not  the 
slightest  doubt  of  his  recovery  and  that  his  health  is  much 
improved  ;  going  to  Mr.  Fry  does  him  a  great  deal  of  good 
and  makes  him  exert  himself  so  much  more.  .  .  . 

And  now  my  darlings  goodbye, 

Ever  your  fond  Mother, 

NINA  SMYTH. 

(2) 

1873- 

My  darling  Child, — I  fully  intend  D.  V.  being  present 
with  Alice  at  your  Confirmation,  and  if  possible  remaining 
over  Sunday  to  take  the  Eucharist  with  you,  as  we  do 


134  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED        1848-77 

not  start  for  Germany  till  Tuesday  3rd.  Have  you  white 
gloves  ?  I  will  send  the  shawls,  veils,  and  all  complete 
with  the  dresses,  and  new  Jaconet  petticoats  to  wear  with 
them.  The  hats  and  velvet  shall  be  sent  with  the  new 
prints.  I  have  some  difficulty  in  matching  the  grey  for 
the  skirts  for  the  new  Spring  dresses  but  shall  succeed  in 
time.  Meanwhile  you  might  wear  your  red  one  on  cold 
Sundays  and  your  green  petticoats  with  the  grey  on  bright 

Sundays 

I  will  telegraph  when  we  are  to  arrive. 

Ever  your  fond  Mother, 

N.  SMYTH. 

(3) 

April  23  !  !     Ethel's  Birthday  ! 

Many  many  happy  returns  of  the  day  my  darling  and 
may  you  be  stronger  in  health  by  your  next  birthday  and 
be  the  dear  good  girl  to  us  this  year  that  you  have  been  all 
last.  .  .  .  How  tiresome  about  the  cape  !  I  cannot  under- 
stand it.  Are  you  sure  putting  the  band  a  little  lower  will 
not  do  ?  The  people  have  sent  you  so  many  things  they 
must  know  you  are  not  a  little  girl,  but  if  it  really  is  too 
small  send  it  back  with  a  note  giving  your  height.  .  .  . 

The  Keatings  will  lend  you  a  guitar  to  see  how  you  like 
it  first  and  then  we  can  buy  one.  God  bless  you  my  darling 
child,  and  may  He  watch  over  you  and  keep  you  in  the 
right  path. 

Your  fond  Mother. 

P.S. — I  highly  approve  of  your  trying  for  the  Cambridge 
Local  Examination. 

(4) 

Frimhurst :   July  1874. 

Ettie  darling, — It  is  indeed  delightful  about  dear  Alice 
and  we  are  all  very  happy  about  it — he  is  such  an  excellent 
dear  fellow  and  so  clever  and  amusing  ;  he  will  be  a  charming 
ingredient  in  our  family  circle.  I  will  send  the  box  by  Papa 
who  is  taking  Johnny  up  to  Emma  Arkwright's  for  a  week 
to  be  under  Hutton — I  do  so  pray  he  may  do  him  good.  .  .  . 

Johnny  says  he  has  got  your  letter  this  morning  :  the 
square  root  of  7!  is  2*738612  etc.  He  couldn't  quite  make 
out  whether  the  second  number  was  1650  or  1*650.  The 


1848-77       THE  SMYTH  FAMILY  ROBINSON  135 

square  root  of  the  former  number  is  41*21326  etc.,  of  the 
latter  1*284523  etc.  I  enclose  a  paper  that  will  shew  you 
how  he  did  it. 

We  are  all  looking  forward  so  much  to  your  coming 
home,  my  darling.  ...  I  do  not  write  more  to-day  as  I 
have  been  quite  laid  up  with  rheumatism  all  down  my  side, 
and  cannot  go  to  the  FitzRoy's  Garden  Party  to-morrow, 
but  dear  Mrs.  Longman  will  chaperone  the  girls.  God  bless 
you  my  child, 

Your  loving  Mother. 

(5) 

July  1874. 

My  darling  Child, — I  am  so  glad  your  chest  is  better ; 
I  think  you  had  better  not  give  up  painting,  dear,  unless 
it  makes  the  pain  worse,  as  it  is  a  sedentary  employment 
without  much  exertion  of  the  mind,  and  therefore  a 
relaxation.  .  .  . 

It  appears  that  when  Hutton  saw  Johnny  first  he 
thought  worse  of  his  hip  than  of  anything  else,  but  when 
he  had  examined  the  spine  6  or  7  times  he  put  his  finger 
on  a  particular  place  and  said  :  '  this  is  the  seat  of  the 
mischief '  and  after  ordering  his  back  to  be  fomented  for 
two  hours  he  returned,  and  after  considerable  manipula- 
tion all  at  once  Reid  and  Papa  heard  a  sort  of  click,  and 
Hutton  said  '  there  !  it  has  now  gone  back  to  its  place '  ; 
but  then  he  worked  the  arm  about  a  good  deal  which  gave 
poor  Johnny  exquisite  pain  and  exhausted  him  terribly. 
He  says  Johnny  must  return  to  him  in  a  month.  .  .  . 
Everyone  is  so  hopeful !  When  poor  F.  L.  consulted 
Hutton  he  told  him  he  could  do  nothing  for  him,  and 
when  he  saw  Johnny  he  said  he  could  make  a  cure  of  him. 
May  it  please  the  Almighty  in  His  mercy  to  restore  our 
darling  to  health  !  .  .  . 

(6) 

Frimhurst. 

My  darling  Ettie, — You  see  Johnny  has  taken  up  your 
Exam.  Papers  and  of  his  own  accord  said  he  should  like  to 
help  you,  which  is  a  very  good  thing  for  you  both.  .  .  . 
We  all  went  yesterday  to  see  some  games  given  by  the 
Highland  Brigade.  While  the  '  tug-of-war  '  between  the 


136  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED        1848-77 

Artillery  and  the  42nd  was  going  on,  it  was  great  fun  to 
see  Papa  crouching  down,  leaning  on  his  umbrella,  shouting 
and  encouraging  the  Artillery  who  ought  to  have  won, 
but  one  man  slipped  up  and  was  disabled.  .  .  . 

I  think  the  affair  between  Captain  —  and  Miss  — 
will  certainly  come  off  after  all  ;  /  have  done  my  best.  .  .  . 
The  guitar  shall,  /  promise,  be  returned  to-day.  It  had 
been  put  up  in  your  room,  so  being  out  of  sight  was,  I  fear, 
out  of  mind.  .  .  . 

(7)  ^ 

Frimhurst  :   January  1875. 

Mon  enfant  cherie,  —  Au  contraire  je  suis  tres  contente 
de  ta  bonne  petite  lettre,  il  n'y  avait  aucune  faute  de 
grammaire,  ou  d'ortographe,  mais  de  terns  en  terns  une 
erreur  de  tournure  de  phrase.  Mais  ceci  ne  peut  s'acquerir 
qu'avec  une  grande  habitude  de  parler  ou  d'ecrire,  et 
meme  c'est  etonnant  que  tu  t'exprimes  sibien,  ayant  si 
peu  1'occasion  de  parler.  .  .  .  Mais,  ma  petite,  il  faut 
absolument  que  tu  reviennes  Lundi  prochain.  Mary 
doit  s'en  aller  a  Trelyddon,  et  Alice  en  a  encore  pour  trois 
semaines  de  sa  cuisine  a  Londres,  et  nous  ne  pouvons 
rester  sans  fille  du  tout  a  la  maison,  en  ayant  3  !  .  .  . 
Dis  mille  choses  gracieuses  et  aimables  de  ma  part  a  Mme. 
Bourne,  en  la  remerciant  de  tout  cceur  pour  toute  sa  bonte 
a  ton  egard.  .  .  . 


[Written  after  Johnny's  death,  while  on  a  first  visit  to 
Alice's  home.  I  was  staying  with  Mary  and  Charlie.'] 

Muirhouse,  Davidson's  Mains,  Midlothian  :   Autumn  '75. 

Ettie  darling,  —  Mind  you  wrap  up  well  for  your  trip 
here  on  Monday  —  put  on  a  long-sleeved  jersey  as  it's  very 
cold  here.  Alice  says  she  fears  you'll  find  it  dull,  but  I 
don't  for  a  moment,  for  there's  always  someone  in  the 
house  and  they're  passionately  fond  of  music  and  under- 
stand about  it.  Then  there  are  always  Jeux  d'Esprit  going 
on,  versifying  themes,  etc.  Mr.  Davidson  is  the  j  oiliest 
most  cheery  old  man  in  the  world,  reads  everything  so 
well,  from  Shakespere  to  a  comic  song,  and  they  are  so 
warm  and  kind  and  affectionate  in  their  manner,  not  a 


1848-77       THE  SMYTH  FAMILY  ROBINSON  137 

bit  stiff  or  formal  as  I  thought  they  would  be.  As  for  dear 
Harry,  all  his  faults  are  manner,  but  he  is  really  very  dear 
in  his  own  house,  so  very  thoughtful  and  considerate. 
Alice  has  such  an  interminable  cold  that  Mr.  Davidson, 
who  just  worships  her,  calls  her  '  Madame  Catarrh/  .  .  . 

I  shall  leave  my  ermine  muff  and  collarette  behind 
here  for  you.  Tell  them  at  Corbridge  not  to  let  anyone 
come  and  meet  me  ;  it  must  be  a  trouble  as  I  know  they 
are  all  busy  now,  more  or  less,  and  I  am  old  and  ugly  enough 
to  take  care  of  Bob  and  myself. 

God  bless  you  dear.  I  wish  I  could  have  had  a  peep 
at  you. 

Love  to  all  who  like  it. 

Your  loving  Mother. 

P.S. — I  am  rather  nervous  about  my  Mary.  I  hope 
she  has  not  been  leaping  about  too  much. 


FROM  ALEXANDER  EWING,  ESQ.,  A.S.C. 
(Composer  of  '  Jerusalem  the  Golden.') 

[Note.  —  Mr.  Ewing's  letters  will  hardly  interest  any  but 
musicians,  except  perhaps  No.  8  —  a  vivid  description  of  a 
Rubinstein  Recital—  and  the  last  two  letters  of  farewell  from 
the  master,  who  had  missed  his  vocation,  to  the  pupil  about  to 
take  up  her  own.  No.  9  is  the  letter  which,  surreptitiously 
read  by  my  father,  brought  my  Harmony  instruction  to  an 
abrupt  end.} 


January  17,  1876. 

Dear  Miss  Smyth,  —  I  am  so  much  obliged  to  you  for 
the  music  which  you  have  sent  (and  for  the  most  brilliant 
of  notes!).  I  think  the  little  Kirchner  things  are  quite 
of  the  right  sort. 

The  large  class  of  our  fellow  creatures  whom  you  so 
aptly  depict  in  two  words,  what  do  they  do  with  the  above 
phrase  ?  When  they  hear  the  D  don't  they  think  the 
performer  has  hit  a  wrong  note  ?  (I  knew  one  of  them 
once  —  a  so-called  '  Great  Musician  '  too  —  who  described 


138  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED        1848-77 

Bach's  fugues  as  '  those  things  that  sound  as  if  they  were 
all  wrong '.) 

No.  2  is  very  fresh  and  bright.  I  '  nod  my  head  '  at 
it  as  well  as  them,  tho'  perhaps  for  other  reasons. 

No.  3  would  scarce  have  existed  but  for  Schumann  ; 
it  dreams  prettily. 

No.  4.     Very  Schumannesque. 

No.  5.  A  gem,  not  like  anybody  else.  I  think  might  be 
a  genuine  '  popular  ballad  '  of  some  northern  race,  dark, 
true  and  tender. 

No.  6.  Most  charming.  Like  (for  one  thing)  a  young 
dryad  dancing  alone  in  a  forest  glade  (I  can't  help  it  if  this 
seems  absurd). 

No.  7.  Very  new.  It  says  something  several  times, 
with  great  distinctness,  but  as  yet  I  have  not  gathered 
what. 

No.  8.     I  think  almost  too  sketchy  except  the  end  ;  and 

No.  9  seems  almost  perfect. 

I  was  careful  to  form  all  these  impressions  without 
looking  again  at  what  you  had  said,  and  now  I  see  you  do 
not  always  quite  agree  with  them. 

'  Dodelinette  '  is  nice  and  pretty,  and  the  last  pages 
evidently  quite  like  the  clock  with  the  weak  heart  (or 
mainspring) . 

I  send  you  volume  I  of  Schumann's  '  Gesammelte 
Schriften.'  I  have  little  doubt  you  will  like  it,  and  if  so, 
there  is  another  volume,  when  you  want  it.  You  must 
pardon  its  tattered  condition,  also  my  most  reprehensible 
habit  of  scoring  passages  which  strike  me  at  particular 
moments  violently  with  pencil  marks,  etc. 

I  also  send  you  one  of  Liszt's  most  recent  things.  What 
would  those  who  take  such  pains  to  call  spades  agricultural 
implements  say  to  some  of  his  chords  and  progressions  ? 
Please  picture  to  yourself  the  effect  of  the  orchestration  as 
well  as  you  can,  and  don't  miss  where  the  trumpets  and 
trombones  come  crashing  and  blazing  in  jf.  at  the  passage— 
'The  Archangel  Michael.  .  .  FLAMES.  .  .  from  every  window!' 

I  am, 

Very  truly  yours, 

ALEXANDER  EWING. 

We  are  very  sorry  you  are  not  to  be  at  the  theatricals. 
I  hope  you  admire  the  way  my  parcels  are  sealed. 
A  clerk  did  it. 


1848-77       THE  SMYTH  FAMILY  ROBINSON  139 

(2) 

Aldershot :   March  8,  1876. 

...  I  think  haste  is  what  you  have  to  guard  against 
at  present.  It  must  be  that  only  which  makes  you  mistake 
chords  and  omit  characteristic  intervals. 

You  know  (please  think  of  it  now,  oh  Sturm  and  Drang  !) 
there  is  no  hurry  ! 

Pardon  my  preaching  and 

Believe  me  (in  haste),  etc. 

:: ,,"•'<;  '•'<$  '.  r-  ,'       ••• 

March  n  (?),  1876. 

...  I  yesterday  went  to  St.  James's  Hall  to  hear 
Brahms's  Sestett,  which  some  say  is  his  very  best  work  as 
yet.  It  was  perfectly  divine  ;  a  real  Master- work,  quite 
fit  to  stand  alongside  the  greatest  men's  productions. 
Schumann  was  not  wrong  when,  among  the  last  things  he 
said,  before  the  dark  clouds  veiled  him  as  he  set '  on 
earth,  he  prophesied  Brahms's  greatness. 

You  are  very  good  to  have  got  up  the  Alto  clef.  I 
should  like  you,  as  soon  as  you  can,  now,  to  get  accustomed 
to  the  Soprano  one — and  then  you  will  have  done  (in  fact 
you  have  already  done)  what  not  every  '  great '  amateur 
musician  has. 

You  know  that  expression  *  a  great  musician,'  and  what 
(in  the  mouths  of  the  canaille)  it  implies  ?  I  like  to  see 
their  faces,  when,  on  making  acquaintance  with  one,  they 
say,  by  way  of  being  pleasant  and  polite,  *  You  are  a  great 
musician  are  you  not  ?  ' 

\That  I  certainly  am  not,'  is  what  I  generally  imply 
in  so  many  words — and  it  is  then  that  they  look  funny.  .  .  . 

(4) 

Aldershot :   March  14,  1876. 

...  As  I  go  on  really  studying  music  properly,  I  feel 
it  more  and  more  hateful  to  do  anything  else.  I  feel 
sure  I  shall  take  to  it  altogether  some  day.  Meanwhile 
one  must  go  on  '  making  wings  for  flight '  as  Goethe  says 
somewhere ;  and  then,  when  they  are  ready,  hey  !  for 
the  upper  ether. 


140  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED        1848-77 

We  have  a  concert  on  Monday,  I  think  it  will  be  pretty 
good.  If  you  please  we  are  going  to  produce  R.  Wagner, 
no  less  !  The  Wedding  Chorus  from  Lohengrin  !  What 
think  ye  of  that  ?  .  .  . 

(5) 

(?)  1876. 

...  I  am  sending  you  the  programme  of  yesterday, 
that  you  may  look  at  the  motifs  of  Brahms's  Sestett — 
though  that  will  give  you  no  idea  of  the  divine  manner 
in  which  they  are  worked  up.  I  am  glad  to  know  that  one 
may  write  at  present ;  I  did  not  know  it  when  I  wrote 
the  former  sheet — (Twere  well,  however,  to  consign  the 
present  page  at  once  to  cremation,  were  it  not  ?)  .  .  . 

You  once  asked  if  I  could  draw.  I  can't,  but  you  will 
find,  on  page  1160  of  the  programme  book,  a  sketch  of 
George  Eliot  which  I  did  yesterday  as  she  sat  in  the  Concert 
Room.  It  really  is  like  her.  Lewes  is  a  very  repulsive 
creature — and  two  ladies  (with  brains)  who  were  with  me 
shrieked  at  him  worse  than  I.  He  '  nodded  his  empty 
head  '  (I  don't  forget  your  hits  !)  wherever  the  music  was 
lightest  and  shallowest.  During  a  scherzo,  for  instance, 
it  went  like  a  mandarin's  in  a  tea-shop  window.  I  am  far 
from  meaning  that  it  is  empty  except  as  regards  music, 
for  I  think  some  of  his  writing  most  able — but  the  head 
that  noddles  at  a  scherzo  must  be  empty  of  that.  G. 
Eliot  sits  and  gazes,  as  if  afar,  with  a  great  rough  powerful 
face.  She  goes  to  all  these  St.  J.  Hall  Concerts,  and  I 
should  think,  and  hope,  'twas  a  real  comfort  to  her  great 
soul  (for  a  Lewes  cannot  be,  that  I  am  sure  of)  and  she  is 
worked  harder  than  any  carthorse.1  .  .  . 

What  an  awful  day  !  I  think  Spring  is  behind  this 
gale.  I  long  for  her  ! 

(6) 

(?)  1876. 

.  .  .  Not  knowing  whether  you  have  seen  Blackwood 
for  May,  I  just  transcribe  you,  as  a  sister  translator,  this 
specimen  of  the  English  tongue  written  by  a  Leipzig  student 
thereof. 

1  As  we  know  now,  Lewes  was,  on  the  contrary,  George  Eliot's  greatest 
comfort. 


1848-77       THE  SMYTH  FAMILY  ROBINSON  141 


'  THE  CALMNESS  OF  CHARLES  XII 

'  The  King  was  in  his  cabin  dictating  a  letter  to  his 
Secretary.  A  bomb  fell  on  the  house  and  got  through  the 
roof.  The  Secretary  turned  his  confounded  looks  to  the 
King.  "  Well,"  said  the  King,  "  what  do  you  have  then  ? 
why  let  you  fall  your  pen  ?  " 

"/Oh,  sire,  the  bomb//  "Well,"  said  the  King, 
"  which  reference  has  that  with  the  letter  I  dictate  in  this 
moment  ?  "  and  he  continued  dictating  with  the  greatest 
coldbloodedness . ' 

Nothing  much  more  delightful  in  its  line  has  met  my 
gaze  for  long. 

(7) 

(?)  1876. 

...  I  heard  Madame  Schumann  yesterday  play  un- 
surpassably,  Nos.  2,  5,  4  and  8  of  her  husband's  Kreisleriana. 
The  Concert  Room  was  thronged  to  the  roof,  and  contained 
Royalty  in  the  front  row.  She  is  in  great  form,  quite 
recovered  apparently.  It  is  a  thing  altogether  unparalleled 
in  its  way  to  hear  her  play  his  things.  It  is  quite  as  if  he 
were  in  the  midst  of  us  (as  doubtless  he  is).  When  one 
thinks  of  all  their  story,  and  looks  at  her,  surviving  still 
to  interpret  him  to  us,  there  is  a  something  quite  sui  generis 
about  it  all. 

A  pupil  of  hers  whom  I  know  has  told  me,  that  she 
used,  some  years  since,  to  '  feel '  it  a  lot  that  he  was  not 
more  widely  known,  and  consequently  worshipped  in  this 
country.  The  fullness  of  time  has  brought  it  about,  and 
she  has  lived  to  see  it,  that  he  is  about  the  best  and  most 
widely  beloved  of  all  the  writers  ;  as  witness  the  gathering 
of  yesterday  to  do  honour  to  her  and  to  him.  .  .  . 

(8) 

May  3,  1876. 

My  dear  Miss  Smyth, — Here  followeth  some  account 
of  Rubinstein's  first  recital. 

We  had  made  special  arrangements  of  our  classes  at 
the  Academy  to  admit  of  our  going  to  this  one  ;  so,  when 
pianoforte  class  was  over,  Franklin  Taylor  and  I  started 


142  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED        i848-77 

off  together,  and  I  swept  him  at  my  usual  rapid  pace  down 
Regent  Street,  being  anxious  not  to  lose  one  of  the  great 
man's  notes.  (He  can't  keep  up  like  you  !)  We  were  in 
time,  however ;  his  stall  was  not  near  mine,  and  we 
separated.  But  I  was  right  in  the  centre  of  a  constella- 
tion of  friends  (I  may  term  them  so — I  look  on  them  as  a 
kind  of  friend,  tho'  they  know  me  not ;  I  owe  them  all 
thanks  for  many  a  happiness,  and  they  belong  to  our 
race)  la  Krebs  (only  four  people  intervening  between  us), 
Mr.  Manns,  with  his  strange  weird  face,  and  his  brilliant 
eyes,  and  Sir  Julius  Benedict.  Many  a  time  in  the  course 
of  the  day  I  read  the  same  things  in  their  faces  that  I  felt 
within  me. 

Krebs,  when  in  repose,  sitting  listening  to  another, 
not  playing  herself,  is  very  much  more  thoughtful  looking 
than  as  we  see  her  at  the  instrument — a  very  refined  type 
of  face  it  seemed,  and  a  nice  speaking  voice.  I  heard  her 
talking  to  her  friend  as  we  came  out,  in  first-rate  English. 
I  believe  we  should  like  her. 

The  great  Maestro  came  on,  punctually  to  his  time. 

A  strange  looking  being.  At  first  sight  he  loomed  broad 
and  uncouth.  I  am  glad  to  find  he  is  much  younger  than 
I  expected — I  should  think  he  is  barely  my  age,  but  it's 
not  easy  to  say  what  his  age  is.  His  hair  is  a  la  Henry 
Holmes,  but  much  more  so.  It  is  about  as  wild  as 
Beethoven's.  I  suppose  it  may  be  brushed  sometimes, 
but  I  should  think  not  as  often  as  it  might. 

General  effect  at  the  first  glance,  something  like  a  Bear 
out  of  the  woods.  Gave  a  slight — very  slight — bend  of 
his  head,  sat  down,  and  commenced  instanter  a  prelude  of 
Bach's,  no  music  before  him,  of  course,  from  beginning 
to  end.  This  bend  of  his  seemed  markedly  dedaigneux, 
and  that  I  thought  right.  The  last  time  he  was  here  the 
people  jeered  at  him. 

He  was  set  down  to  play  a  prelude  and  fugue  of  Bach's, 
but  he  did  play  two  preludes  and  fugues  (I  quite  forget 
which  they  were). 

I  thought  to  myself,  '  Is  he  going  to  be  a  disappoint- 
ment ?  '  I  have  heard  others  play  Bach  just  as  well  as 
he  did — Bulow,  Krebs,  etc.  There  was  a  wondrous  power 
of  finger-touch  in  rapid  passages,  but  that  was  the  only 
thing  at  all  remarkable  about  this. 

Scarcely  taking  breath  after  them,  he  commenced  a 
slow  movement  of  Mozart,  with  a  rondo  after  it. 


1848-77       THE  SMYTH  FAMILY  ROBINSON  143 

Immediately  we  were  in  a  new  world — a  world  of  grace* 
fairy  lightness,  and  pure,  childlike,  innocent  beauty. 

More  men  than  one,  you  see,  evidently,  under  this 
bear's  hide.  The  most  refined  woman  could  not  have 
been  more  womanly  refined  than  he  was  here — and  yet 
there  was  a  man's  power  veiled  behind  it.  La  Krebs  and 
I  were  both  fetched  by  this  performance,  and,  as  by  one 
consent,  led  off  a  burst  of  applause  of  it.  Still  he  scarce 
took  any  notice,  but  launched  out  almost  without  a  breath 
into  Beethoven's  great  Sonata  Appasionata — Op.  57. 

The  scene  changed  now,  with  a  vengeance.  There  came 
tremendous  rushes  and  bursts,  given  with  a  swaying  power, 
a  marvellous  clearness,  a  rapid  surging  and  seething  and 
subsiding,  which  absolutely  electrified  the  crowd  of  listeners. 
(Manns  glowed  over  these  orchestral  effects — as  well  he 
might.)  The  slow  movement  glided  its  way  like  a  gentle 
river,  every  shade  of  it  rendered  with  the  most  loving 
observance,  and  the  most  poetic  feeling.  Then  came  the 
most  stormy  finale.  Towards  the  close  of  this,  he  was 
simply  like  some  inspired  thing,  struggling  (and  visibly, 
with  every  muscle  of  his  body)  as  with  a  contending  demon, 
till  at  the  close,  with  a  mighty  grasp  and  shove,  he  bound 
him  down  and  held  him,  subservient  to  his  will. 

This  rather  fanciful  language  does,  I  assure  you,  convey 
quite  what  it  was  like  to  me. 

There  was  a  break  in  the  programme  here  ;  he  rose 
up  to  go  out.  The  people  fairly  shouted  at  him  in  a  way 
I  have  never  heard  an  audience  shout  in  England.  Now 
for  the  first  time  he  made  a  low  obeisance.  They  called 
him  on  three  times ;  he  came  lumbering  on  each  time, 
and  bowed  again,  his  tangled  mane  falling  over  his  face, 
and  he  taking  hold  of  it  awkwardly  with  one  hand  to  put 
it  away. 

And  now  we  all  breathed  for  a  while. 

Next  came  Schumann's  Kreisleriana — the  whole  of 
them.  I  heard  (you  know)  her  play  some  of  them.  She 
played  them  best,  I  think  ;  but  he  has  one  advantage 
over  her — a  Cantabile  which  surely  nobody  else  ever 
approached,  and  which  must  be  heard  to  be  understood, 
such  is  its  power,  its  variety,  and  its  perfection. 

The  same  three  calls  on,  after  these. 

Chopin's  Sonata  (the  one  with  the  Funeral  March)  came 
next.  We  read,  in  that  Leipzig  notice,  how  great  his 
playing  of  Chopin  is.  It  was  the  best  thing  of  all.  Totally 


144  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED        1848-77 

different  to  everything  else.  The  Funeral  March — I  have 
known  it  (or  thought  so)  from  childhood.  Well,  I  tell 
you,  (I  won't  tell  anybody  else,  except  perhaps  my  wife) 
I  cried  at  it  like  a  child  !  There  !  I  felt  that  tears  must 
come — I  tried  to  keep  them  back,  but  back  they  would 
not  be  kept — they  rolled  down  my  cheeks.  I  can't  tell 
you  exactly  what  made  them  come.  He  played  it  with 
the  most  utter  simplicity — and  yet  with  such  a  hidden 
sort  of  depth.  I  think  it  was  more  the  gradual  crescendo 
than  anything  else  which  went  so  to  one's  heart.  It  was 
such  utter  perfection  of  gradualness.  The  thing  seemed 
to  come  on  and  on,  and  grow  and  swell,  in  its  simple  depth 
of  sadness. 

And  it  went  away  in  the  same  manner.  The  passage 
which  was  fff  when  it  first  spoke,  was,  at  the  end,  though 
still  ff  with  reference  to  the  rest,  still  soft  and  distant 
now ;  the  long  mournful  cortege  had,  you  see,  passed  on, 
and  was  lost  in  the  distance.  Nobody  could  move  to 
applaud  it.  After  the  last  echoes  of  it  ceased  to  be 
distinguishable,  he  burst  into  the  finale. 

Three  times  called  on  after  this  Sonata.  Then  4  Etudes 
of  Chopin's,  one  of  them  the  one  I  called  '  Woe  '  to  you. 
He  read  it  on  the  same  principle  I  do.  They  were  as 
marvellous  as  all  the  rest.  The  pace  at  which  he  took 
some  of  them  was  almost  incredible.  But  as  for  '  missing 
notes  ! '  .  .  .  Bah  ! 

He  finished  with  several  charming  things  of  his  own, 
but  I  think  we  were  all  too  used  up  with  emotion  to  enjoy 
them  as  we  might  had  not  so  much  gone  before.  I  doubt 
not  they  will  come  back  to  us.  The  last,  a  Valse  Caprice, 
was  marvellous.  He  thundered  in  it,  and  showered  the 
lightest  fairy  pearls,  and  sang,  and  played  tricksy  games — 
and,  called  on  3  times  as  usual,  made  his  lumbering  bows, 
and  awkwardly  moved  back  his  mane  with  one  of  his 
hands,  and  disappeared. 

His  face  is  the  strangest  compound  of  beauty  and 
ugliness,  the  masculine,  and  the  feminine.  In  the  profile, 
the  beauty  predominates — the  refinement  of  the  profile 
is  striking.  The  reverse  is  the  case  with  the  front  face. 
The  playing  is  something  the  same — marvellous,  nay, 
gigantic  ;  masculine  power  and  energy,  and  the  utmost 
delicacy  of  feminine  refinement — both  in  every  grade  of 
intensity.  Add  to  this,  touches  of  every  description  in  a 
degree  of  perfection  which  I  can't  conceive  surpassed. 


1848-77       THE  SMYTH  FAMILY  ROBINSON  145 

Heigho  !  I  have  given  you  a  '  notice  '  with  a  vengeance. 
I  have  to  be  up  at  7  to-morrow  to  go  to  town  to  Prout, 
and  must  now  see  about  some  sleep.  I  hope  I  shall  hear 
from  you  soon  ;  probably  I  shall  to-morrow. 

I  am  ever  most  truly  yours. 

P.S. — I  have  no  doubt  we  shall  find  people  to  say  he 
'  thumps  '  too  much  and  that  sort  of  thing.  Some  of  his 
gestures  occasionally  verge  on  the  ludicrous. 


(9) 

June  1876. 

...  It  does  strike  one  with  amazement  when  one  sees 
the  enormous  masses  of  people  whose  lines  go  not  beyond 
housekeeping  and  petty  scandal.  I  suppose  they  are  of 
such  a  different  race  to  the  likes  of  us,  that  they  find  an 
equal  difficulty  in  comprehending  how  we  can  get  on  without 
their  pursuits. 

The  Queen  has  been  here  to-day,  but,  not  being  obliged 
to  appear,  I  went  not  near  Her  Gracious  Majesty. 

In  moments  or  hours  of — well — despondency,  which 
will  come  upon  one  now  and  then  (this  is  a  continuation 
of  the  previous  paragraph)  one  sometimes  thinks  what  an 
uphill  struggle  it  is  for  our  race.  These  other  people  go 
calmly  sloping  along  through  their  narrow  restricted  orbits  ; 
their  joys  and  their  sorrows  are  feeble  and  dim.  This  we 
know,  (though  they  do  not)  because  ours  flash  and  blaze, 
and  then  sink  down  into  the  very  bulb  of  the  thermometer. 
We  don't  know  much  Rest.  Not  that  we  really  want  to, 
for  Action  is  the  Bliss  of  the  Spirit,  but  the  Body  cries  out 
for  it  at  times.  I  suppose  that  is,  of  course,  why  so  many 
of  us  die  so  young. 

And  are  they,  who  go  so  soon,  to  be  called  happy — 
glorious  beings,  for  instance,  like  Mozart,  Mendelssohn, 
Chopin,  Schumann — gone  away  into  '  das  Stille  Land  ' 
as  Uhland  names  it,  just,  one  would  think,  when  this 
world  lay  at  their  feet  in  all  its  loveliness  ?  For,  to  us, 
with  all  its  drawbacks,  it  is  a  lovely  world  and  life.  What 
race  finds  so  much  delight  in  it  as  ours  ?  The  other  tribes 
do  not  know  what  it  is  to  us.  They  rest,  and  they  house- 
keep,  and  make  money,  and  have,  of  course,  their  lesser 
griefs  and  gladnesses,  and  stare  at  us,  and  deem  us  more 
or  less  mad,  tho',  very  often,  not  a  bad  sort  of  folk  in 
our  way.  Because  we  treat  them  much  more  kindly  and 

VOL.  I.  L 


146  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED       1848-77 

considerately  than  they  treat  us.  They  torture  and  hamper 
us,  and  jar  our  souls,  without  knowing  what  they  are 
about ;  but  we  spare  them,  and  serve  them,  and  do  our 
best  for  them,  and  only  wish  to  be  away  from  them  and 
among  ourselves.  But  I  would  we  knew  '  whither  we  are 
wending '  (to  quote  the  familiar  church  song). 

That  the  world  into  which  we  are  wending  is  not  a 
'  Stille  Land  '  I  am  convinced — but  oh,  that  one  knew  ! 
If  it  be  not  a  land  of  action  and  of  bliss  for  the  Spirit,  then, 
for  goodness  sake,  let  us  eat,  drink  and  be  merry  in  this, 
which  we  know  something  about.  But  all  those  glorious 
intelligences  which  we  know  (in  a  degree)  as  we  do  our- 
selves, never  can  merely  '  go  out '  as  Leibgeber  calls  it. 

You  think,  do  you  not,  that  of  all  the  Arts  ours  is  the 
most  like  a  clear  proof  of  this  ?  The  musician's  creations 
live  after  his  death  in  a  peculiar  manner  which  no  other 
artist's  do.  A  picture  rots,  a  statue  crumbles  to  dust. 
A  work  of  Bach's  is  just  as  much  alive  as  a  work  of 
Wagner's  ;  and  no  more,  nor  less  alive  now  than  when  he 
was  alive  himself.  It  exists  for  us  on  paper,  and  in  perform- 
ance ;  two  kinds  of  existence,  differing  in  degree  perhaps, 
but  the  one  quite  as  real  as  the  other.  At  all  times  the 
essence  of  it  is  the  Spirit.  An  orchestra  of  equal  excellence, 
which  should  render  a  symphony  of,  say,  Herz  (if  there 
were  such  a  thing)  and  one  of  Beethoven — what  would  be 
the  essence  of  the  difference  between  the  two  works  ? 
Not  the  material  part. 

(Oh  dear  !    what  truisms  I  am  putting  down.) 

Then  are  the  works  to  possess  this  spiritual  existence, 
and  not  the  spirit  which  produced  them  ?  .  .  .  They  may  ; 
one  can't  tell.  But  one  can't  believe  it.  .  .  . 

(10) 

Manchester  :   April  20,  1877. 

I  feel  disposed  to  begin  with  a  Jean  Paulisches  Vorwort 1 
on  the  beginnings  of  letters,  in  certain  cases.  I  will  not 
call  you  '  My  dear  Miss  Smyth.'  I  have  tried  it  lately, 
but  I  shall  not  to-day.  It  is  too  like  the  lady  in  Dickens 
who  always  said  *  Doyce  &  Clennam,  I  am  sure  more 
proper.'  You  and  I  are,  at  all  events,  brother  and  sister 
artists.  The  thing  that  it  is  most  natural  to  me  to  call 
you  is  '  my  child,'  And  as  many  other  people  do  so  I  mean 

1  Preface. 


1848-77         THE  SMYTH  FAMILY  ROBINSON  147 

to  do  it  too.    One  thing  is,  I  know  you  don't  mind  what  I  call 
you,  and  that  after  all  it  makes  no  earthly  difference. 

End  of  the  Vorwort  or  Extra  Leaflet.  Well  then,  my 
dear  child,  to  take  the  end  of  your  letter  first,  which  is 
full  of  the  strongest  things  you  could  say  to  me. 
'  Gratitude  '  is  surely  a  misplaced  word.  We  helped  one 
another  in  the  old  times,  and  laboured  side  by  side.  They 
were  happy  times.  I  think  no  pleasure  is  so  pure  and 
great  as  working  at  something  one  loves  with  a  person  who 
is  utterly  sympathetic.  Well,  we  had  that  enjoyment 
together  for  a  good  spell.  Your  mother  did  for  it, 
effectually.  If  I  spoke  out  my  mind  I  should  say  with 
St.  Paul  (so  that  the  most  orthodox  could  find  no  logical 
objection)  '  the  Lord  reward  her  according  to  her  work/ 
But  yet  I  shall  not  copy  St.  Paul  herein,  for  I  suppose  she 
meant  well.  At  all  events  since  I,  so  to  speak,  lost  you, 
my  music  has  languished  and  withered,  and  at  the  present 
hour  is  dead  within  me.  I  find  it  too  great  a  grind  to 
work  at  it  alone.  It  won't  come.  During  latter  months 
at  Aldershot,  all  I  did,  except  indeed  reading  Wagner, 
was  perfunctory,  teaching  sort  of  work — in  harness  to 
turn  mills  for  other  people.  Now  even  that  is  over. 

But  while  I  have  been  going  downhill  gradually  into 
these  deep  places,  you  have  been  going  along  your  upward 
path,  making  friends  with  some  of  the  great  and  noble  in 
the  world  of  Art.  You  have  got  Madame  Schumann's 
blessing,  and  you  will  prosper  and  flourish.  I  have  often 
said  I  should  yet  be  proud  of  my  first  harmony  '  pupil ' 
(though  that  is  an  improper  term)  and  so  I  shall.  Well — 
had  I  had  some  20  years  off  my  back,  I  might  have  come 
along  the  path  after,  or  with  you.  But  those  years  will 
not  be  shaken  off. 

I  do  not  yet  know  Brahms  well  enough  to  think  so 
much  of  him  as  you  do.  I  do  not  always  get  within  his 
meaning.  I  know  both  Sestetts.  I  heard  his  last  quartett — 
I  think  in  B|?  major.  I  like  it  very  much,  and  I  liked  the 
(so-called)  '  Scherzo  '  best.  It  is  no  more  a  Scherzo  than 
it  is  an  Irish  Jig,  but  it  is  a  superb  movement.  The  critics 
considered  it  unintelligibile  !  I  heard  Madame  Schumann 
&  Co.  play  her  husband's  pianoforte  quartett  just  as  you 
say  they  did. 

As  you  say,  we  shall  probably  meet  some  day.  '  Les 
montagnes  finissent  toujours  par  se  rencontrer,'  as  says 
Cherbulliez.  (Do  you  know  him  ?)  I  doubt  if  we  shall 


148  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED        1848-77 

over  the  Wagner  Concerts.  I  only  can  go  to  one  and 
that  the  first.  I  trust  you  will  manage  to  let  me  know 
any  great  events — such  as  your  going  to  Dresden  (?)  and 
the  like.  Nobody  can  be  much  more  interested  in  what 
happens  to  you.  Though  I  am  in  the  lows  now,  don't 
suppose  I  shan't  manage  to  make  head  against  them.  I  am 
depayse,  and  solitary — always  hate  new  places  and  new 
people.  Indeed  this  place  and  people  seem  rather  repulsive 
to  me  at  first,  but  no  doubt  they  will  improve.  The  wrench 
from  Aldershot  has  been  an  awful  one.  .  .  . 

I,  too,  have  a  good  many  friends  of  sorts,  some  new  and 
some  old.  But  one  thing  is  certain  ;  there  is  not  one, 
nor  can  I  suppose  there  ever  will  be,  who  can  ever  oust 
you  from  your  place.  It  would  have  to  be  a  second  you 
to  do  so,  and  a  second  you  does  not  exist.  Now,  my  dear 
child,  I  must  bid  you  good-bye,  for  the  time.  Au  revoir 
I  hope  and  believe  it  only  is.  We  won't  forget  each  other, 
nor  all  the  brave  old  times  when  we  laboured  together. 
Believe  me,  then,  always  to  be  most  truly  yours, 

ALEXANDER  EWING. 


[On  hearing  I  was  really  going  to  Leipzig,] 

May  1877. 

My  dear  Child  and  Friend, — I  am  so  glad  !  This  is 
really  a  great  blessing — and  coming  so  much  sooner,  too, 
than  we  could  have  expected.  How  happy  you  must  be, 
and  how  good  it  was  of  you  to  write  oft  at  once  and  let 
me  know.  Because,  after  all,  nobody  can  rejoice  at  it 
more  than  I  do.  Ah  !  were  I  but  coming  too  !  .  .  .  but 
you  will  tell  me  all  about  it,  and  I  shall  always  apply  to 
you  for  the  latest  information  and  tips.  .  .  . 

.  .  .  Ebben  ;  for  the  present  I  can  no  more — time 
presses  and  I  want  to  catch  you  as  early  as  possible  with 
the  heartfelt  congratulations  which  you  know  will  come 
from  me.  Between  this  and  your  departure  we  must 
meet  and  bid  good-bye  otherwise  than  in  written  words. 
The  address  I  have  given  here — (don't  lose  it  now  !)  is  my 
office  and  will  always  find  me.  Any  time,  or  where,  you 
think  we  can  meet,  I  will  come.  Auf  Widersehn. 

Most  truly  yours, 

A.  E. 


PART  II 
GERMANY  AND  TWO  WINTERS   IN   ITALY 


CHAPTER  XIV 

SUMMER  1877 

BEFORE  embarking  on  the  story  of  that  happiest  epoch 
of  an  artist's  life,  the  spell  of  hard,  hope-ridden  work  which 
lies  between  self-dedication  and  the  endeavour  to  capture 
the  interest  of  an  indifferent  world,  it  should  be  pointed 
out  that  the  scene  of  that  golden  time  was  nothing  less 
than  a  lingering  bit  of  the  dear  old  Germany  of  Heine  and 
Goethe,  doomed  presently  to  vanish  under  the  stress  of 
Imperialism. 

In  those  days  there  was  a  feud  between  Saxony  and 
Prussia  ;  Hanover  considered  herself  an  aristocratic  break- 
water against  floods  of  vulgarity  setting  in  from  other 
states,  and  Bavaria  hated  them  all  impartially.  This 
condition  of  things  preserved  exactly  what  Empire  tends 
to  destroy,  an  individual,  dignified,  self-sufficing  life  in 
each  state.  As  Goethe  has  said,  talent  can  only  thrive  in 
peace  and  retirement,  and  in  the  days  when  little  German 
Courts  and  middle-sized  provincial  towns  were  contentedly 
working  out  their  own  salvation,  you  got  hundreds  of  quiet, 
beautiful  gardens  of  art.  These  Empire  sweeps  away  ; 
competition  with  other  countries  ends  in  the  industrialisa- 
tion of  everything,  including  music,  and  when,  more  than 
a  quarter  of  a  century  later,  I  re-visited  Leipzig,  I  found 
that  was  exactly  what  had  happened ;  there,  as  elsewhere, 
a  flashy  chapter  was  being  enacted  that  made  one  think 
with  sadness  and  longing  of  past  days. 

Whether  the  war,  which  has  brought  so  many  chapters 
to  an  abrupt  end,  will  restore  dignity  to  Art  remains  to  be 
seen,  but  in  any  case  the  old  setting  is  lost  for  ever.  For 
this  reason  and  not  only  because  I  loved  it  so  dearly,  it 


152  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED  1877 

seems  worth  while  recording  my  impressions  of  a  by-gone 
epoch  as  minutely  as  I  propose  to  do. 

Of  the  journey  I  remember  little,  except  that  soon 
after  crossing  the  Dutch  frontier  the  train  made  straight 
for  a  distant  range  of  mountains,  and  suddenly  there  was 
an  opening  in  the  chain,  through  which  we  passed  with  the 
river  that  had  cloven  it.  This  spot,  one  of  the  great  gates 
into  Germany,  and  which  is  like  the  Guildford  gap  in  the 
Hog's  Back  on  a  huge  scale,  I  have  often  seen  again  and 
never  without  a  thrill.  And  then  came  a  still  more  poignant 
moment,  the  slowing  down  through  hideous  suburbs,  and 
the  indescribable  emotion  with  which  I  read  the  word 
'  Leipzig '  on  the  platform  board.  We  had  breakfast  at 
the  little  old  Hotel  de  Rom  hard  by,  and  sallied  forth 
to  find  Frau  Professor  Heimbach's  dwelling,  the  romantic 
name  of  which  was  Place  de  Repos,  Treppe  G. 

Reposeful  it  certainly  was,  being  a  large  block  of  a 
building  well  off  the  road,  jammed  in  between  two  other 
equally  hideous  blocks ;  romantic  no  one  could  call  it, 
but  what  of  that  ?  Between  me  and  it  hung  a  veil  woven 
of  youth  and  hope — the  strongest  web  of  romance  ;  and 
as  we  stepped  under  a  dingy  archway  into  a  courtyard 
leading  to  '  Treppe  G/  I  was  passing  through  the  Gate 
named  Beautiful  into  the  Chosen  City.  We  clambered  up 
three  pairs  of  rotten  wooden  stairs,  my  brother-in-law 
curiously  sniffing  the  odours  that  lingered  about  them— 
odours  which  I  really  believe  are  the  monopoly  of  the  two 
or  three  sluggish  streams  Leipzig  is  built  on,  one  of  which, 
the  Pleisse  at  its  worst,  crawled  by  close  to  our  house. 
A  stout,  shy,  motherly  person,  clad  in  what  I  afterwards 
knew  was  her  best  gown,  greeted  us  very  pleasantly,  and 
informed  us  (or  rather  Harry  Davidson,  for  her  Leipzig 
accent  utterly  defeated  the  little  German  I  had)  that  I 
should  not  be  cut  off  from  England,  in  that  she  harboured 
another  lodger — a  '  charmanter  Junge/  Mr.  B.,  nephew  of 
a  well-known  potentate  connected  with  Punch  and  a 
protege  of  Frau  Schumann's. 

We  deposited  my  luggage,  inspected  my  room  and  the 
short  wooden  bedstead  with  a  mountainous  feather  bed 


i877  IN  GERMANY  AND  ITALY  153 

on  it,  and  started  off  to  view  the  town,  which  Harry  had 
known  in  the  past. 

Even  then  it  was  full  of  charm  ;  the  walls  and  fortifica- 
tions were  gone,  all  except  the  Pleissenburg  which,  placed 
in  an  angle,  pulled  the  whole  inner  circle  of  the  old  town 
together,  and  though  really  unbeautiful  in  itself,  managed, 
with  its  squat  tower  and  sturdy  bulk,  to  look  imposing. 
The  '  ditch/  as  the  Germans  call  it,  had  been  filled  in  and 
planted  as  a  Promenade  ages  ago,  and  above  it,  on  our 
side  at  least — for  we  were  just  without  the  Altstadt — the 
tall,  narrow,  tile-roofed  houses  of  Diirer's  pictures  towered 
in  a  curve  above  the  rise  they  were  built  on,  and  beautifully 
caught  the  evening  light.  Close  to  us,  on  the  fringe  of 
the  old  town,  was  the  Thomas  Kirche,  where  Bach  played 
the  organ,  and  the  Thomas  Schule,  of  which  he  was  Cantor  ; 
this  is  the  only  dwelling  place  of  the  Great  Dead  that  ever 
moved  me,  hideous  though  it  was.  They  have  pulled 
down  the  Pleissenburg  and  the  picturesque  old  mill  beyond 
it,  but  I  trust  the  Rathhaus  is  still  standing.  Not  very 
superb  late  Renaissance,  it  is  nevertheless  a  fascinating 
building,  with  its  copper-clad  pinnacles  greened  by  verdigris, 
and  the  warm,  sombre  colour  of  the  brick.  In  my  time  there 
were  periodical  agitations  to  clear  it  away,  as  also  to  widen 
three  or  four  narrow  streets  close  by,  in  which  were  still 
some  fine  old  houses,  but  the  Philistines  were  always  over- 
borne. 

We  lunched  at  the  best  restaurant  in  the  town,  Harry 
remarking  it  would  reassure  my  father  to  hear  what  we 
had  eaten  for  about  lod.  each,  and  then  walked  out  into  the 
Rosenthal,  a  sort  of  park  and  wood  combined — quite  pretty 
in  a  stiff  style,  but  reputed  to  smell  of  garlic  in  the  spring 
to  a  degree  that  disconcerted  even  the  most  ardent  lovers. 
Here  I  made  my  first  amazed  acquaintance  with  the  well- 
known  signboards  '  Verboten  '  on  which  the  German  Empire 
is  run,  and  which  met  us  at  every  turn ;  I  had  thought 
grass  was  meant  to  walk  on,  but  evidently  this  was  a 
mistake. 

A  peculiarity  of  Leipzig  was,  that  the  space  between 
the  vanished  walls  and  the  promenade  was  carved  up  into 
miniscule  gardens  about  the  size  of  a  largish  chapel  in 


154  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED  1877 

Westminster  Abbey,  which  were  let  to  anyone  who  chose 
to  apply.  We  had  a  rendezvous  at  4  o'clock  to  drink 
afternoon  coffee  with  Frau  Professor  in  her  garden,  the 
approximate  spot  being  described  beforehand,  and  a  promise 
given  that  Mr.  B.,  whom  we  had  not  yet  seen,  would  be 
on  the  look-out  for  us.  A  very  untidy  youth  of  the  artistic 
type,  with  a  shock  of  fair  hair  hanging  into  his  eyes,  whose 
appearance  would  have  disgusted  my  father,  duly  met  us 
and  conducted  us  to  our  garden,  where  Frau  Professor  and 
her  niece  Fraulein  Friedlander  had  everything  in  readi- 
ness. In  each  of  the  gardens  were  a  tiny  summer-house 
and  three  or  four  trees  ;  ours  boasted  no  flowers,  but,  to 
our  amazement,  imbedded  crazily  in  the  shingle,  were  five 
croquet  hoops  ;  and  here  after  coffee  did  we  start  the  most 
fantastic  game  of  croquet  I  ever  played,  Fraulein  Fried- 
lander  and  Harry  against  B.  and  me.  If  you  could  not 
get  through  your  hoop  because  of  a  tree,  you  simply  shifted 
the  hoop,  manipulating  the  angle  a  little  to  your  advantage. 
B.  was  a  player  of  the  violent  type  whose  great  object  was 
to  cannon  off  the  trees,  as  if  by  accident,  right  into  the 
summer-house  where  Frau  Professor  and  her  cat  were  en- 
sconced with  their  knitting.  I  say  '  their '  knitting,  because 
we  were  told  if  the  needles  stopped  one  moment  the  cat 
became  restless  and  wandered  off  into  neighbouring  gardens. 
When  the  balls  began  flying  about,  Frau  Professor  calmly 
piled  up  the  crockery  for  safety  behind  the  summer-house, 
and  resumed  her  place,  well  tucking  up  her  feet  on  the  bars 
of  another  chair ;  and  I  said  to  myself,  an  old  lady  with 
such  sound  nerves  must  surely  be  easy  to  live  with. 

After  that  there  was  a  gala  supper  in  our  flat ; 
I  remember  we  had  partridges  stuffed  with  sauerkraut, 
which  were  pressed  on  us  as  being  '  fein  und  begannt.' 
This  phrase  I  meditated  for  a  year  or  so,  and  eventually 
found  out  '  begannt '  was  the  Saxon  for  '  pikant.'  My 
brother-in-law,  fortunately  a  smoker,  was  finally  conducted 
downstairs  by  B.,  aided  by  the  light  of  his  own  matches, 
leaving  me  to  my  first  night  under  a  German  roof.  Next 
day  I  saw  him  off  from  the  station,  and  began  life  in  a  state 
of  wild  enthusiasm  that  transformed  the  little  round  rolls 
into  manna,  the  thin  coffee  dear  to  Leipzigers  into  nectar, 


i877  IN  GERMANY  AND  ITALY  155 

and  even  invested  the  sanitary  arrangements  with  a  sort 
of  local-colour  appropriateness.  The  only  water  the  Town 
Council  supplied  in  Place  de  Repos  was  a  thin  trickle  from 
a  tap  in  the  kitchen,  but  as  I  was  equal  to  cold  tubs  in  those 
days  this  was  of  no  consequence. 

My  diagnosis  of  my  landlady's  character  proved  correct ; 
an  easier,  more  philosophic  temperament  would  be  hard  to 
find,  and  with  B.  to  interpret,  the  accent  difficulty  was 
soon  got  over.  But  it  was  not  till  later  days  that  one  wrong 
impression  was  put  right.  When  Fraulein  Friedlander 
had  spoken  of  her  aunt,  widow  of  Professor  Heimbach,  we 
imagined  the  title  implied  high  university  honours,  as  in 
cases  like  Darwin  and  Huxley  ;  face  to  face  with  the  lady, 
one  could  only  suppose  her  eminent  husband  had  risen 
from  the  ranks  and  married  in  earliest  youth.  Later  I 
discovered  that  he  was  wholly  unknown  to  fame,  and  indeed 
I  was  never  able  to  learn  which  University  had  conferred 
his  title  on  the  late  Herr  Professor  Heimbach. 

Young  B.  turned  out  to  be  a  harum-scarum,  harmless 
sort  of  youth,  whose  parents  had  evidently  dispensed 
with  his  presence  during  the  summer  holidays,  for,  as  I 
now  learned,  the  Long  Vacation  was  in  full  swing.  In 
my  zeal  to  leave  England  I  had  omitted  to  make  enquiries 
as  to  when  the  Conservatorium  term  began,  and  the  place 
would  be  shut  for  a  month  yet ;  so  as  Fraulein  Friedlander, 
her  mother,  and  Fraulein  Redeker  of  the  Liebeslieder 
Walzer — also  a  Leipzig  young  lady — were  to  spend  a 
fortnight  in  the  Thuringer  Forest,  it  was  suggested  I  should 
accompany  them.  Fraulein  Redeker,  as  I  said  before,  was 
one  of  my  '  passions/  and  when  informed  that  Henschel 
was  to  join  the  party  later,  I  had  some  notion  of  the 
unutterable  happiness  that  was  in  store  for  me. 

But  only  a  vague  notion,  for  what  that  first  sojourn 
with  real  musicians  in  a  little  wooden  house  on  the  verge 
of  the  forest  turned  out  to  be,  what  words  can  tell  ?  Let 
it  be  remembered  that  never  in  my  life  had  I  met  anyone 
capable  of  judging  whether  or  not  I  was  the  born  musician 
Mr.  Ewing  proclaimed  me,  and  after  all  he  himself  was 
but  a  gifted  amateur.  Here  I  found  my  compositions 
listened  to  by  a  man  who  himself  was  a  composer,  who  as 


156  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED  1877 

regards  musical  equipment  was  on  a  level  with  Brahms 
or  anyone  else  in  the  great  music  world,  and  on  his  and 
other  faces  I  read  the  desired  verdict.  But  the  chief 
bliss  was  less  personal  than  that.  Henschel  is  one  of  the 
superbly  cultivated  musical  temperaments  you  find  only 
in  Germany  and  Austria  ;  I  have  listened  to  many  at 
work,  but  have  never  heard  anything  to  compare  with 
his  singing — to  his  own  accompaniment  of  course — of 
Brahms,  Schubert,  Beethoven — in  fact  any  and  every 
composer.  He  would  sit  down  at  the  rickety  old  piano 
in  our  lodgings,  and  all  the  things  in  musical  literature 
I  had  ever  wanted  to  hear,  not  to  speak  of  others  I  had 
never  even  heard  of  (including  his  own  '  first  fine  careless 
rapture  '  '  Trompeter  Lieder'),  were  poured  out  before  me. 
As  some  people  rejoice  in  having  seen  Venice  for  the  first 
time  by  moonlight,  so  I  am  thankful  the  '  Gruppe  aus 
Tartarus  '  was  first  made  known  to  me  by  Henschel,  and 
in  my  eyes  this  dear  old  friend,  whom  in  after  years  even 
my  father  came  to  be  fond  of,  was  like  a  god. 

We  used  to  take  long  walks,  making  for  one  of  the 
Beerhouses  dotted  about  the  forest,  which  superior  people 
laugh  at,  but  which  I  delight  in,  on  our  way  singing 
Volkslieder  in  parts,  the  nearest  thing  to  the  improvisa- 
tions of  Slav  Gipsy  Orchestras  I  ever  took  part  in.  One 
day  we  got  lost ;  it  was  stiflingly  hot,  the  woods  smelt 
like  a  great  bath  of  pine-extract,  and  we  felt  we  should 
die  if  we  did  not  soon  find  our  Beerhouse.  Suddenly  we 
came  on  it  round  a  corner,  and  to  my  last  hour  I  shall 
remember  the  first  glass  of  beer  drunk  that  day  !  Henschel 
had  just  been  somewhere  with  Brahms ;  and  after  telling 
us  the  great  man's  new  symphony  was  to  be  produced 
at  the  Gewandhaus  Concerts,  conducted  by  the  composer, 
in  the  coming  season,  I  remember  his  presently  pointing 
to  me  and  saying  laughingly  to  the  others :  '  Look  at  that 
face  !  '  .  .  .  Thrice  in  my  life  for  a  brief  space  I  have 
been  in  Heaven,  and  the  first  time  was  in  Thuringia. 

One  souvenir  of  that  radiant  fortnight  remains  with 
me.  I  always  called  Redeker  '  die  Konigin/  because,  as 
I  think  I  mentioned,  it  was  from  her  lips  I  first  heard 


i877 


IN  GERMANY  AND  ITALY 


157 


Wie  bist  du  meine  Konigin  ' ;  so  I  cut  out  a  cardboard 
crown,  of  the  spiky  Neptune  kind,  and  induced  her  to  be 
photographed  sitting  on  a  chair,  I  myself  standing  behind 
it  in  the  act  of  crowning  her.  She  afterwards  married  a 
well-known  London  physician,  and  as  Lady  Semon  still 
possesses  this  treasure. 


CHAPTER  XV 
AUTUMN  1877 

WHILE  in  Thuringia  I  had  found  out,  to  my  horror,  from 
two  lodgers  of  Frau  Friedlander's  who  were  of  the  party, 
that  in  that  house  the  piano  was  going  all  day,  and  that 
composing  would  have  to  be  done,  if  at  all,  at  night.  I 
was  in  despair,  but  eventually  a  peaceful  reshuffling  of 
pensionnaire  livestock  took  place  between  the  sisters- 
in-law,  and  when  we  returned  to  Leipzig  I  settled  down 
with  Frau  Professor  for  good  and  all.  Somehow  or  other 
the  fact  that  the  only  other  lodger  was  a  young  man  must 
have  escaped  the  lynx-eyes  at  Frimhurst,  for  I  cannot 
remember  any  fuss  being  made  about  it. 

There  was  yet  a  week  or  so  of  idleness  before  the 
beginning  of  the  term.  I  had  been  given  a  letter  of  intro- 
duction to  one  Leipzig  big-wig,  head  of  the  great  publishing 
firm  Brockhaus,  but  had  no  idea  of  mortgaging  my  freedom 
yet  awhile,  so  merely  explored  the  town,  enquired  into 
prices,  found  out  what  music  it  was  possible  to  hear  in 
the  slack  season,  and  generally  looked  about  me.  My 
first  discovery  was  that  the  place  was  full  of  French  names 
like  Place  de  Repos — relics  of  the  Napoleonic  era  which  a 
monarch  with  more  historical  sense  and  less  Kultur  than 
his  grandson  had  not  thought  it  necessary  to  germanise. 
If  our  old  block  still  exists,  which  is  not  likely,  no  doubt 
it  is  now  called  '  Ruheplatz.'  There  were  many  other 
links  with  the  French  past,  and  I  came  to  know  an  old 
lady,  last  survivor  of  one  of  the  great  burgher  families, 
who  stood  with  me  in  the  window  whence  she  had  watched 
Napoleon  ride  out  of  the  gates  to  the  battle  of  Leipzig. 
She  told  me  he  looked  '  cross  and  insignificant '  ! 

One  day  I  saw  that  Hoffmann's  Serenade  in  D,  a  piece 

158 


i877  IN  GERMANY  AND  ITALY  159 

of  music  I  particularly  wanted  to  hear,  was  to  be  played 
next  evening  at  an  open-air  concert  in  the  Rosenthal 
Restaurant,  and  announced  that  I  meant  to  be  present. 
Frau  Professor  said  this  was  impossible,  that  no  young 
girl  could  go  to  a  place  like  that  by  herself,  and  she  un- 
fortunately could  not  take  me  as  next  day  was  '  Grosse 
Wasche.'  This  was  the  great  washing  festival  held  once 
a  month  in  households  such  as  ours,  and  which,  judging 
by  an  unsavoury  mountain  of  dirty  linen  in  a  certain 
cupboard,  was  overdue.  The  idea  of  going  with  B.  was 
ruled  out  of  the  question,  so  I  hit  upon  a  plan  which  this 
capital  old  lady  somewhat  reluctantly  fell  in  with.  I  hired 
grey  corkscrew  curls  and  a  large  pair  of  horn  spectacles, 
borrowed  her  thickest  veil  and  her  gown,  which,  after  I  had 
swathed  myself  in  newspapers  tightly  tied  on  with  string, 
and  added  other  contrivances,  was  a  perfect  fit.  Having 
finally  painted  in  appropriate  wrinkles,  I  sallied  forth  to 
the  Rosenthal,  sat  down  with  a  piece  of  knitting  (for  show 
only)  at  a  small  table,  and  asked  for  beer  and  a  '  Schinken 
Brodchen  ' — that  is  buttered  roll  with  ham  in  the  middle. 

It  was  a  warm  September  night  and  the  garden  was 
full  of  burgher  families,  seated  like  me  at  little  tables  with 
beer  and  ham,  and  listening  religiously  to  the  really  excellent 
music — in  short  it  was  the  Germany  of  my  dreams.  The 
only  illumination  was  Chinese  lanterns,  but  even  by  day- 
light, I,  my  stoop,  and  my  hobble  would  probably  have 
passed  muster.  I  looked  about  and  saw  B.  sitting  with 
two  stout  German  youths,  and  presently  I  went  up  and 
asked  him  some  question  in  a  quavering  old  voice,  explaining 
that  I  knew  no  German.  The  Serenade,  a  charming  piece 
of  music  by  the  by,  and  everything  else  I  heard  that  night, 
enchanted  me,  and  by  n  o'clock  I  was  unlocking  our 
house-door,  and  picking  my  way  by  the  light  of  the  usual 
match,  among  horrible  islands  of  assorted  '  Wasche/  to 
my  room.  Frau  Professor  was  so  well  broken  to  English 
eccentricity,  and  so  convinced  that  sons  and  daughters 
of  our  race  can  look  after  themselves,  that  she  never  even 
sat  up  for  me — a  fact  which  raised  her  immensely  in  my 
estimation.  I  had  heard  from  B.,  whose  room  was  next 
hers,  that  she  snored  more  powerfully  than  ten  strong 


160  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED  1877 

men,  owing,  he  thought,  to  the  shape  of  her  nose,  which 
was  snub  and  flat,  like  a  small  funnel  driven  inwards  by 
a  blow  from  a  hammer.  As  I  passed  her  door  I  observed 
that  for  once  he  had  spoken  the  truth,  being  otherwise 
one  of  the  harmless,  improbable  liars  young  men  of  his 
type  often  are. 

Next  day  at  lunch  I  suddenly  repeated  my  question 
of  the  night  before  in  the  same  quavering  voice,  and  for  a 
moment  B.  looked  as  if  he  were  going  mad,  but  he  promised 
to  keep  the  secret.  When  I  became  a  Conservatorist  I 
found  I  was  already  famous,  this  young  man,  who  was 
always  cadging  for  invitations,  having  supped  out  on  that 
story  ever  since.  But  it  never  got  to  Frimhurst,  which 
was  the  main  point. 

A  few  days  before  she  left  for  London,  Fraulein 
Friedlander  took  me  to  pay  an  eagerly  awaited  visit,  for 
this  was  to  be  my  introduction  to  the  Leipzig  music  world. 
Again  a  climb  up  three  pairs  of  rotten  stairs,  in  one  of  the 
hideous  buildings  which  flanked  Place  de  Repos  ;  and  an 
hour  later,  sitting  at  tea — real  tea — with  my  new  friends, 
Herr  Concert-Meister  Rontgen,  leader  of  the  Gewandhaus 
orchestra,  and  his  family,  I  had  found  an  answer  to  the 
question,  '  What  went  ye  out  for  to  seek  ?  '  In  those  walls 
was  the  concentrated  essence  of  old  German  musical  life, 
and  without  a  moment's  hesitation  the  whole  dear  family 
took  me  to  their  bosom. 

It  all  began  with  a  little  sonata  I  had  written,  a  certain 
Bb  in  which  proved  to  be  the  key  to  their  hearts.  He  was 
Dutch  by  extraction,  distant  cousin  of  the  X-ray  discoverer 
— as  great  a  gentleman  and  as  true  a  musician  as  I  have 
known.  She  was  of  the  old  Leipzig  musical  stock  Klengel, 
a  family  that  could  raise  a  piano  quintett  among  them- 
selves, and  together  with  their  Rontgen  cousins  a  small 
orchestra.  Every  violin  sonata,  every  piano  trio  or 
quartett  printed,  would  Frau  Rontgen  or  her  daughter 
tackle — the  mother's  performance  unplaned  perhaps,  but 
of  a  fire  and  musicality  that  carried  all  before  it.  Their 
one  servant  was  seldom  a  cooking  genius  and  always  needed 
supervision,  and  between  two  movements  of  a  trio  Frau 


i877  IN  GERMANY  AND  ITALY  161 

Rontgen  would  cry  :  '  Line,  thou  canst  take  the  Scherzo/ 
and  fly  off  to  the  kitchen,  Line  replacing  her  on  the  music 
stool  till  eagerly  swept  off  it  again.  I  remember  one 
occasion  when  dear  old  Papa  Rontgen,  as  we  used  privately 
to  call  him,  who  had  a  delicate  digestion,  complained  of 
the  Egg-Dish  (I  do  not  know  how  else  to  translate  that 
basis  of  German  existence  '  die  Eier-Speise  '),  and  his  wife 
said  with  simple  contrition,  '  Yes,  I  know,  it  is  my  fault, 
I  ought  to  have  waited  to  see  her  brown  it  ...  but  thou 
knowest  how  I  love  that  Andante  ! ' 

Their  son  Julius,  composer,  viola-player,  pianist  and  all 
the  rest  of  it,  is,  I  think,  still  head  of  a  Music  Academy  and 
conductor  at  Amsterdam,  but  Line  took  to  marriage  and 
babies  and  rather  dropped  her  music.  To  see  Julius  and 
his  mother  playing  pianoforte  duetts  was  a  sight  that 
would  nearly  overwhelm  strangers,  the  motions  of  their 
spirits  being  reproduced  by  their  bodies  in  dramatic  and 
absolutely  identical  gesture.  This  is  what  made  the 
spectacle  so  curious  ;  you  could  not  believe  but  that  some 
unseen  power  was  manipulating  a  duplicate  set  of  invisible 
wires.  At  the  tender  parts  of  the  music  they  would  smile 
the  same  ecstatic  smile  to  themselves,  or  in  extreme  cases 
at  each  other  ;  in  stately  passages  their  backs  would  become 
rigid,  their  elbows  move  slightly  away  from  their  sides, 
and  their  necks  stiffen  ;  at  passionate  moments  they  would 
hurl  themselves  backwards  and  forwards  on  their  chairs 
(never  sideways,  for  they  respected  each  other's  field  of 
action)  and  the  fervour  or  ferocity  of  their  countenances 
was  something  I  have  only  once  seen  equalled — by  Sada 
Yacco's  rejected  admirer  on  the  Japanese  stage.  It  was 
all  so  natural  and  sincere,  that  though  one  could  not  help 
smiling  sometimes,  it  never  interfered  with  your  enjoyment, 
once  you  knew  them  well  enough. 

If  any  surviving  members  of  that  dear  family  should 
ever  read  these  lines,  I  cannot  think,  knowing  my  devotion 
to  their  mother  and  how  I  reverenced  her,  that  they  will 
resent  my  poking  a  little  harmless  fun  at  her  and  Julius. 
It  was  merely  an  excrescence  on  the  very  thing  I  am 
extolling — the  intimate,  you  may  really  say  domestic, 
quality  of  music-making|in  those  days. 

VOL.  I.  M 


162  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED  1877 

Johanna,  the  eldest  daughter,  a  particular  friend  of 
mine,  was  a  character,  and  one  of  the  most  musical  of 
people,  though  she  played  no  instrument — already  a  sign 
of  originality  in  that  family.  She  was  one  of  the  few  critics 
I  listened  to  with  respect,  and  had  a  phenomenally  fine 
ear.  Once  I  made  her  sit  down  sharply  on  the  keyboard 
and  tell  me  what  notes  were  sounding ;  she  began  with  the 
lower  and  upper  ones,  a  trifle  of  course  to  such  as  her,  but 
with  the  rest  she  was  equally  successful,  as  far  as  her  bulk 
would  let  me  check  them.  She  would  say,  beginning  from 
the  bass :  '  d,  d# — no  e — f,  fj — then  nothing  till  b%,'  and  so 
on,  till  the  echoes  died  into  silence.  Let  any  musician, 
choosing  a  slim  collaborator  if  possible,  try  this  and  see 
how  difficult  it  is.  Johanna  had  little  or  no  voice,  and 
what  there  was  of  it  was  poor  in  quality,  but  no  sheep 
dog  ever  kept  his  flock  in  better  order  than  she  the  altos 
in  choral  singing. 

She  was  religious  and  of  a  Lutheran  turn  of  mind 
altogether — a  slightly  different  thing  to  the  Nonconformist 
conscience  but  of  the  same  family — in  spite  of  which, 
rinding  out  that  she  did  not  know  Maupassant,  I  rashly 
lent  her  a  carefully  selected  volume  of  his  stories.  But 
next  day  she  gave  it  back  with  a  wonderful  snort  of  which 
she  had  the  secret,  conveying  remonstrance  with  me,  pride 
in  her  own  incorruptibility,  and  confidence  in  Germany's 
power  to  finally  crush  creatures  like  Maupassant.  In 
moments  of  excitement  she  spoke  almost  as  broad  Saxon 
as  Frau  Professor  herself,  and  I  cannot  refrain,  for  the 
benefit  of  those  who  know  the  dialect,  from  giving  her 
immortal  words  on  that  occasion  :  '  Ne,  ich  danke  dir,  so 
'nen  Dreck  les'  ich  nich  !  da  geniegt  mer  schon  mei  Shakes- 
pere  und  mei  Geede  !  '  ('  No,  I  thank  thee,  such  filth  will  I 
not  read.  My  Shakespere  and  my  Goethe  suffice  unto 
me/)  Later  I  was  to  find  out  that  this  is  the  usual  opinion 
in  Germany  of  modern  French  literature,  though  seldom 
so  forcibly  expressed. 

There  was  one  more  belonging  to  that  household,  a 
dear  Swedish  girl  called  Amanda  Meyer,  violinist  and  com- 
poser, who  afterwards  married  Julius  ;  and  then  for  the 
first  time  I  saw  a  charming  blend  of  art  and  courtship  very 


i877  IN  GERMANY  AND  ITALY  163 

common  in  those  days.  Thus  it  must  have  been  in  Bach's 
time,  thus  with  the  old  Rontgens,  but  I  don't  see  how  it  can 
come  off  quite  in  the  same  way  under  modern  conditions. 

Thinking  of  differences  between  then  and  now,  what 
most  strikes  me  is  the  fact,  that  very  often  of  an  evening 
these  families  would  combine  to  make  music  among  them- 
selves. Not  only  that,  but  on  every  other  Sunday  members 
of  the  quartett  Papa  Rontgen  led,  the  'cellist  of  which 
was  his  nephew  Julius  Klengel,  would  come  to  his  flat  and 
play  all  afternoon.  Sometimes  of  course  they  rehearsed 
one  of  their  repertory  numbers,  but  these  meetings  were 
mainly  for  the  pleasure  of  making  music.  Then  there  was 
leisure  in  the  world  to  love  and  practise  art  for  its  own 
sake,  and  that,  that,  is  the  tender  grace  of  those  dead 
days !  .  .  . 

Shortly  before  the  war  Kreisler  told  me  a  horrible 
thing ;  he  said  '  I  have  visited  every  town  in  the  world, 
almost,  of  over  100,000  inhabitants,  and  of  them  all  I  know 
only  the  railway  station,  the  hotel,  and  the  concert  hall/ 
I  exclaimed  it  was  a  hideous,  degrading  life ;  why  did  he 
go  on  with  it  ?  He  spoke  of  relations  to  support,  financial 
crises,  and  so  on ;  and  when  I  uttered  the  German  equivalent 
of  '  bosh  !  '  he  replied :  '  Yes,  you  are  right ;  one  gets  into 
the  groove  and  can't  or  won't  get  out  of  it.'  .  .  .  This  is 
the  sort  of  madness  of  which  I  wish  the  war  would  purge 
the  world. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

WINTER  1877-1878 

AT  the  time  I  signed  on  as  pupil  of  the  Conservatorium, 
that  institution  was  merely  trading  on  its  Mendelssohnian 
reputation,  though  of  course  we  in  England  did  not  know 
that.  The  first  person  the  neophyte  would  come  into  con- 
tact with  was  a  horrible  old  doorkeeper,  Castellan  A.,  relic 
of  the  Golden  Age,  who  refused  to  do  even  the  smallest  of 
his  duties,  such  as  deliver  a  letter,  without  a  tip.  Life 
was  then  on  a  scale  that  made  a  halfpenny  a  matter  of  long 
disputes  between  Frau  Professor  and  her  tradesmen,  hence 
one  penny  was  considered  by  our  tyrant  a  satisfactory 
gratuity,  but  I  never  grudged  a  penny  more  bitterly.  The 
real  fountain  of  the  universal  slackness  was  of  course  the 
then  Director,  an  old  friend  (?)  of  Mendelssohn's,  who  had 
reached  the  age  when,  in  some  natures,  thoughts  of  duty 
cease  from  troubling,  scruples  are  at  rest,  and  nothing  but 
emoluments  and  pleasures — and  his  pleasures  were  not  well 
spoken  of — are  taken  seriously. 

The  three  masters  I  had  to  do  with  were  Reinecke, 
conductor  of  the  Gewandhaus  Concerts,  for  composition ; 
Jadassohn,  a  well-known  writer  of  canons,  for  counterpoint 
and  theory  generally ;  and  Maas  for  piano.  The  lessons 
with  Reinecke  were  rather  a  farce ;  he  was  one  of  those 
composers  who  turn  out  music  by  the  yard  without  effort 
or  inspiration,  the  only  emotion  connected  with  them  being 
the  ever-boiling  fury  of  his  third  wife — a  tall,  thin  woman 
with  a  mop  of  frizzy  black  hair — at  the  world's  preferring 
Brahms's  music  to  that  of  her  adored  husband.  There  were 
always  crowds  of  children  prowling  about  the  corridor  of 
his  flat,  and  he  was  unable  to  conceal  his  polite  indifference 

164 


1877-78  IN  GERMANY  AND  ITALY  165 

to  our  masterpieces,  taking  up  his  pen  to  resume  his  own 
before  we  had  got  to  the  door.  Jadassohn's  classes,  held 
in  the  Conservatorium,  were  at  least  amusing,  but  equally 
farcical  as  instruction ;  their  official  length  was  forty 
minutes,  and  when  he  arrived,  always  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
late,  it  was  to  stand  with  his  back  to  the  stove  for  another 
ten  minutes  telling  us  exceedingly  funny  stories  with  the 
Jewish  lisp  I  came  to  know  so  well  in  Germany.  He 
diligently  set  us  canons  and  other  exercises,  but  there  was 
seldom  time  even  to  look  at  the  work  we  brought,  much 
less  correct  our  mistakes.  Maas  was  a  conscientious  but 
dull  teacher,  and  if  Frau  Schumann,  when  I  came  to  know 
her  later,  used  to  say  she  didn't  mind  hearing,  but  couldn't 
bear  to  look  at  me  playing,  owing  to  the  way  I  managed 
my  hands,  it  was  probably  more  my  fault  than  his. 

At  first  I  was  astonished  at  the  lack  of  musical  enthusiasm 
among  my  fellow  students  ;  gradually  I  came  to  realise 
these  girls  and  boys  had  come  there  merely  to  qualify  for 
teachers'  certificates,  and  certainly  whatever  flame  may 
have  been  in  their  bosoms  to  start  with  was  bound  to  burn 
low  in  the  atmosphere  of  superficiality  and  indifference 
our  masters  distilled.  The  glorious  part  was  the  rest  of 
the  music  life,  the  concerts  and  the  Opera.  In  modern 
Germany,  and  everywhere  else  except  Austria,  some  special 
conductor,  or  the  performance  of  some  crack  orchestra, 
is  what  attracts  the  public  ;  people  who  will  throng  to  hear 
Mr.  A.'s  quartett  play  anything  and  everything  would  not 
cross  the  street  to  hear  the  same  works  performed  by  any 
other  four,  all  of  which  is  the  result  of  boom  of  course. 
But  at  Leipzig  in  those  days  you  went  simply  to  hear 
the  music. 

The  twenty  Gewandhaus  concerts  were  conducted 
one  and  all  by  Reinecke,  and  though  in  other  towns  the 
custom  of  playing  excerpts  from  Wagner  had  been  started, 
such  a  thing  was  taboo  in  those  sacred  walls.  Not  even 
the  overtures  of  his  operas  were  tolerated,  and  I  remember 
an  all  but  successful  attempt  to  bar  the  Siegfried  Idyll. 
This  quite  orthodox  concert-piece  was  so  ill-received,  several 
of  the  permanent  subscribers  staying  away  to  mark  their 
indignation,  that  the  experiment  was  not  repeated.  You 


166  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED        1877-78 

could  not  call  Reinecke  an  inspiring  conductor,  but  at  all 
events  he  let  the  music  do  its  own  business  ;  there  were  no 
carefully  thought  out  effects,  no  rushings  and  dawdlings, 
no  '  Reinecke  touches  '  ;  in  short  there  was  nothing  between 
you  and  the  thing  itself,  which  is  just  the  quality  that  moves 
one  to  the  depths,  as  I  said  elsewhere,  listening  to  Patti 
on  the  gramophone.  I  suppose  jaded  palates  cannot  get 
on  without  these  artificial  stimulants,  but  it  was  glorious, 
when  I  was  in  Vienna  the  winter  before  the  war,  to  find  a 
public  too  fresh  and  keen  to  need  them. 

What  a  curious  place  that  old  Gewandhaus  was  !  Built, 
as  its  name  '  Cloth-Hall '  indicates,  for  anything  but  music, 
and  in  defiance  of  all  known  laws  of  acoustics,  its  sonority 
was  nevertheless  perfect.  Acoustics  are  queer  things — 
so  queer  that,  pondering  them,  imaginations  run  riot. 
An  old  gentleman  from  Magdeburg  once  told  us  how  a 
door  had  been  opened  in  the  wall  of  some  concert-room,  to 
the  complete  destruction  of  its  sonority.  Horrified,  the 
Town  Council  blocked  up  the  door  again  with  the  very  same 
bricks — '  aber  es  ntitzte  nichts — hin  war  die  Akustik  !  ' 
(it  was  of  no  use — the  sonority  was  gone).  In  spite  of 
the  delicate  touch  about  the  bricks  it  had  walked  off  in 
disgust  to  return  no  more.  .  .  .  The  Gewandhaus  tickets 
were  almost  all  subscribed  for,  and  only  by  intrigue  or 
charity  could  you  get  one.  But  the  rehearsals  the  day 
before  were  supposed  to  be  the  real  thing,  especially  as 
they  only  cost  2s.  and  to  us  Conservatorists  nothing  at  all. 
Old  ladies  used  to  bring  their  knitting  to  the  concerts  in  those 
days,  an  enchanting  practice,  as  stimulating,  I  am  sure, 
to  aesthetic  enjoyment  as  a  cigarette ;  but  it  was  put  down 
as  '  bourgeois '  in  the  smart  new  Concert  Hall  built  three 
or  four  years  later  .  .  .  alas  !  alas  !  .  .  . 

The  chamber  music,  in  the  beautiful  '  Little  Saal ' 
behind  the  other,  was  on  the  same  lines,  simple,  sincere, 
and  run  by  local  men ;  and  as  the  Director  of  the  Stadt 
Theater  was  that  go-ahead  old  genius  Angelo  Neumann — 
a  man  who  scented  out  talent  as  a  pointer  marks  down 
game — and  the  orchestra  practically  the  same  as  played  in 
the  Gewandhaus,  the  Opera  was  probably  at  its  best  then. 


1877-78  IN  GERMANY  AND  ITALY  167 

One  chapter  in  an  old-fashioned  tale  for  children  called 
'  The  Story  without  an  End '  begins  :  '  As  for  the  child 
he  was  lost  in  a  dream  of  delight '  ;  so  it  was  with  me 
during  my  first  season  in  Leipzig.  Great  art  joys  may  come 
to  you  in  later  life,  but  nothing  can  ever  equal  a  first  hearing 
of  Beethoven's  A  Minor  Symphony,  or  Schubert's  C  Major 
Quintett,  in  the  company  of  kindred  spirits  like  the  Rontgens 
and  others  then  unknown  to  me — for  my  greatest  musical 
friendship  was  yet  to  be.  When  the  orchestra  was  tuning 
for  my  first  Beethoven  Symphony  I  remember  trembling 
all  over  like  a  horse  at  covert  side,  and  being  far  too  agitated 
to  note  the  themes. 

In  October  Frau  Schumann  played  at  a  Chamber  Music 
Concert,  and  B.  walked  Place  de  Repos  with  a  halo,  for 
his  was  to  be  the  privilege  of  turning  over  for  her,  she  and 
his  father  being  very  old  friends.  Before  a  concert,  being 
the  most  nervous  of  women,  she  habitually  wept  in  the 
artist's  room,  declaring  to  the  last  moment  she  could  not 
possibly  go  on  to  the  platform  ;  surely  then  a  greater 
sacrifice  to  old  friendship  could  not  be  imagined  than 
associating  herself  in  public  with  this  near-sighted, 
abnormally  clumsy  youth.  Of  course  the  worst  happened  ; 
at  one  moment  the  music  was  on  Frau  Schumann's  knees, 
thence  violently  shot  by  her  on  to  the  floor,  but  mercifully 
there  was  no  break  in  the  performance.  A  very  few  months 
later  I  got  to  know  her  intimately ;  she  was  subject  to 
rather  loveable  attacks  of  fury,  just  like  a  child,  and  was 
very  funny  on  the  subject  of  B.  I  thought  of  her  years 
afterwards  when  attending  one  of  Madame  Lind-Gold- 
schmidt's  singing  classes,  in  the  course  of  which  two  pupils 
left  the  room  in  tears.  The  old  school  had  no  patience 
with  stupidity. 


During  the  early  part  of  the  winter,  an  event  happened 
which  even  now  it  almost  turns  me  pale  to  think  of,  and 
oddly  enough  two  scenes  in  the  drama  were  played  on  the 
frozen  pond  of  the  Johannisthal.  I  was  working  terrifically 
hard,  among  other  things  practising  the  piano  five  hours 
daily,  and  had  made  rather  friends  with  a  flibberty-gibbet 


168  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED        1877-78 

of  a  Swiss  girl,  a  Miss  Heimlicher,  whom  I  persuaded  to 
skate  with  me  at  the  only  hour  that  did  not  interfere  with 
my  work,  before  breakfast.  There  was  also  a  certain 
young  Englishman  who  paid  me  much  attention,  and  even 
went  so  far,  after  I  had  fainted  one  day  on  the  ice  and  come 
to  with  my  head  on  his  knee,  as  to  propose  marriage.  If 
I  mention  the  fact  it  is  because  it  is  pertinent  to  the  story 
— not  in  a  spirit  of  boasting  ;  for  I  have  always  believed 
the  two  or  three  men  who  have  thus  honoured  me  knew 
perfectly  well  there  was  not  the  slightest  danger  of  their 
being  accepted,  so  were  free  to  indulge  in  that  priceless 
luxury  of  the  young,  an  unrequited  attachment. 

One  day  Frau  Professor  said  to  me  :  '  It  is  a  pity  Fraulein 
Heimlicher  associates  so  much  with  that  Miss  B.,  for  she 
has  a  very  bad  reputation.'  This  was  a  clincher.  I  had 
already  caught  certain  remarks  in  the  Conservatorium,  and 
felt  that  steps  must  be  taken,  so  at  last  I  told  my  friend 
what  I  had  heard.  She  was  much  agitated  and  asked 
what  she  should  do  ?  Having,  in  spite  of  my  folly,  some 
rudiments  of  common  sense,  and  an  English  dread  of  libel 
laws,  I  said  :  '  Say  nothing,  but  gradually  drop  her/  My 
memory  is  categoric  on  that  point.  Miss  Heimlicher 
thanked  me  profusely,  said  I  was  a  true  friend,  and  for  a 
few  days  I  saw  nothing  of  her.  .  .  .  The  next  thing  was  a 
lawyer's  letter,  handed  in  by  an  official,  commanding  my 
appearance  in  three  weeks'  time  in  Court,  on  a  charge  of 
libel  brought  against  me  by  Miss  B.  !  .  .  . 

Now  it  must  be  remembered  that  one  of  my  father's 
reasons  for  refusing  his  consent  to  my  leaving  home  was 
that  he  fancied  I  was  a  spendthrift,  and  that  my  mother's 
diamonds  would  one  day  have  to  be  sold  to  pay  my  debts  ; 
also  that  my  allowance  was  only  just  sufficient  to  meet  my 
needs.  I  knew  the  terrific  penalties  enforced  in  English 
libel  cases,  and  for  an  hour  or  two  my  heart  seemed  con- 
tinually on  the  point  of  ceasing  to  beat.  I  turned  over  in 
my  mind  what  was  to  be  done,  whose  advice  could  be 
asked.  Either  because  I  did  not  know  her  well  enough, 
or  from  pride,  or  some  other  reason,  I  ruled  out  Frau 
Rontgen  and  eventually,  knowing  he  was  a  kind  shrewd  old 
fellow,  I  confided  in  Jadassohn.  '  You  must  have  a  lawyer,' 


1877-78  IN  GERMANY  AND  ITALY  169 

he  said.  A  lawyer  !  where  was  the  fee  to  come  from  ? 
But  Jadassohn  had  a  good  friend,  one  Ernst  Meyer,  a 
devilish  clever  fellow ;  he  would  give  me  a  line  to  him 
saying  I  was  his  pupil,  and  the  cost  would  be  nothing  to 
speak  of,  half  a  crown  perhaps  but  not  more.  He  looked 
up  the  address,  off  I  started,  rang  a  bell,  and  was  ushered 
into  the  office  of  the  most  odious,  inhuman,  filthy  old 
scoundrel  I  ever  beheld.  Alas  !  though  kindness  itself, 
Jadassohn  was  more  than  casual,  and  there  being  about 
twenty  Ernst  Meyers  in  the  address  book,  several  of  whom 
were  in  the  legal  profession,  he  had  picked  out  the  wrong 
one,  as  I  found  out  when  it  was  too  late  !  This  repellant 
person  read  the  letter  and  must  certainly  have  known  there 
was  a  mistake  somewhere,  but  merely  enquired  what  my 
business  was,  informed  me  I  had  not  a  leg  to  stand  on, 
and  would  I  please  hand  over  ten  marks  to  start  with  ? 
I  had  only  six  with  me,  gave  him  five  of  these  on  account, 
and  after  certain  notes  were  taken,  asked  anxiously  what 
sort  of  penalty  was  to  be  expected  ?  With  an  icy-cold 
indifference,  for  which  I  hope  he  is  now  burning  elsewhere, 
he  replied :  '  Impossible  to  say ;  anything  from  a  hundred 
to  a  thousand  marks.  Good  morning/ 

A  hundred  to  a  thousand  marks  !  that  is  from  £5  to 
£50  !  I  walked  out  of  that  office  as  near  despair  as  I  have 
ever  been  in  my  life,  and  determined  to  go  for  advice  to 
our  Director.  The  old  monster  received  me  more  in  sorrow 
than  in  anger,  said  he  had  heard  of  this  distressing  matter, 
and  that  it  was  a  terrible  thing  to  blast  the  fair  fame  of 
one  of  his  children  (for  thus,  so  I  was  told,  he  looked  upon 
all  the  300  of  us).  Painful  though  it  might  be,  he  feared 
I  deserved  the  lesson  I  was  about  to  receive,  and  that 
Justice  must  run  her  course ;  it  was  not  for  him  to 
interfere.  .  .  . 

What  next  ?  .  .  .  I  collected  my  '  grandeurs '  (a  few 
lockets  and  an  old  watch)  told  the  whole  story  to  my 
admirer,  pressed  a  parcel  into  his  hands,  and  besought  him 
to  sell  the  contents  for  me.  Next  day  he  produced  about 
£3,  feared  it  was  very  little,  but  assured  me  he  had  done 
his  best.  Years  afterwards,  having  acquired  knowledge  of 
market  values,  I  came  to  the  conclusion  that  if  he  got  los. 


170  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED        i877-78 

for  the  lot  he  did  wonders,  and  that  the  balance  must  have 
come  out  of  his  own  slender  pocket. 

My  next  move  was  quite  fantastic.  Among  the  skaters 
was  a  nice-looking  man  about  thirty,  who  I  somehow  found 
out  was  a  lawyer,  and  actually  counsel  for  the  plaintiff ! 
I  forthwith  introduced  myself,  and  no  doubt  to  his  intense 
astonishment  and  amusement,  begged  his  advice  on  my 
sad  case.  He  was  very  kind  and  sympathetic,  and  finally 
said  :  '  You  must  have  heard  this  report  from  someone 
else  ;  well,  if  that  person  won't  come  forward  you  are 
perfectly  entitled  to  name  him  or  her  as  your  authority, 
and  there's  an  end  of  the  thing  as  far  as  you  are  concerned/ 
As  a  matter  of  fact  I  had  just  mentioned  the  subject  of 
responsibility  to  Frau  Professor,  but  was  met  with  such 
floods  of  tears,  and  such  implorings  not  to  take  the  bread 
out  of  the  mouth  of  a  widow,  that  I  was  remorseful  for 
having  spoken.  So  I  thanked  the  lawyer  and  said  I  did 
not  see  my  way  to  taking  the  course  he  suggested. 

My  final  action,  as  the  dreaded  Day  of  Judgment 
approached,  was  probably  better  inspired  than  I  realised 
at  the  time  ;  I  wrote,  and  delivered  with  my  own  hand  at 
his  door,  a  letter  to  the  Director,  saying  I  had  no  money  to 
pay  a  large  fine,  should  certainly  not  borrow,  but  go  to 
prison  ;  all  I  asked  of  him  was  not  to  let  the  matter  get  to 
the  ears  of  my  parents,  &c.,  &c.  No  doubt  the  letter  was 
melodramatic  and  ridiculous,  but  the  old  wretch  must  have 
felt  it  was  sincere  and  been  rather  alarmed  at  the  turn 
things  were  taking,  for  as  I  afterwards  found  out,  Miss  B. 
was  more  or  less  under  his  protection.  Whether  he  inter- 
vened or  not  I  never  knew  of  course,  but  when  I  arrived 
at  the  Court — not,  as  I  anticipated,  a  huge  place  thronged 
with  an  expectant  public,  but  merely  a  dingy  room  up  a 
back  street,  in  which  were  neither  the  plaintiff  nor  her 
counsel  but  just  a  few  stray  lawyers — I  was  told  that  if  I 
wrote  a  becoming  apology,  expressing  my  belief  in  the 
spotless  character  of  the  young  lady,  and  paid  the  costs, 
all  would  be  forgiven  and  forgotten.  Who  shall  blame  me 
if  under  the  circumstances,  though  with  inward  groanings 
that  cannot  be  uttered,  I  put  my  name  to  the  required  lie  ? 
In  the  end  the  £3  saw  me  about  half  way  through  the  whole 


1877-78  IN  GERMANY  AND  ITALY  171 

business,  but  it  was  quite  the  worst  nightmare  of  my  life. 
I  may  add  that  the  friendship  with  Miss  Heimlicher  died 
a  natural  death,  and  that  soon  after,  though  I  think  no  one 
knew  what  had  happened,  Miss  B.  disappeared  from  the 
scene. 


Long  afterwards,  in  fact  early  in  the  present  century, 
I  learned  that  my  kindly  young  Englishman  had  taken 
Holy  Orders — of  course  ! — and  eventually  become  Head 
Master  of  a  very  flourishing  preparatory  school.  Finding 
to  my  surprise  that  one  of  my  nephews  was  being  educated 
there,  I  asked  in  a  fit  of  sentimental  curiosity  what  kind 
of  person  the  Head  was  ?  '  Oh,  just  the  usual  sort  of  beast, ' 
replied  my  nephew,  and  with  mingled  feelings  of  awe  and 
disgust  he  then  learned  that  the  beast  might  have  been 
his  uncle. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

WINTER  1877-1878 

BY  this  time  I  had  separated  the  wheat  of  instruction  from 
the  chaff,  and  evolved  a  reasonable  Plan  of  Hours.  My 
only  friends  were  still  the  Rontgens,  a  state  of  things  that 
suited  me  exactly,  for  I  knew  well  the  condition  of  perfect 
liberty  is  being  absolutely  unknown.  Nevertheless  one 
day  shortly  before  Christmas  I  at  last  put  on  a  pair  of 
tidy  gloves,  and  getting  myself  up  to  look  as  English 
and  conventional  as  possible,  went  to  call  upon  Frau 
Dr.  Brockhaus,  the  only  person  I  had  a  letter  of  intro- 
duction to.  Doubts  had  been  cast  on  the  value  of  this 
introduction  by  my  parents,  inasmuch  as  it  had  been 
given  me  by  Mary  Schwabe 's  mother-in-law,  the  celebrated 
philanthropist  Madame  Schwabe,  who  held  Queens  and 
Empresses  in  the  hollow  of  her  hand,  who  swept  every- 
one she  met  into  the  whirlpool  of  her  activities,  and  who 
had  hypnotised  me  into  giving  a  concert  at  Camberley, 
shortly  before  my  departure  for  Germany,  in  aid  of  some 
Institution  of  hers  at  Naples.  And  as  I  have  said  the 
family  of  Schwabe  was  not  in  favour  at  Frimhurst  just 
then.  It  turned  out,  however,  that  Frau  Dr.  Brockhaus 
was  one  of  the  great  ladies  of  Leipzig,  and  I  was  most 
cordially  welcomed  there,  this  delightful  house  eventually 
becoming  my  home  during  my  first  winter  abroad.  Oddly 
enough,  on  the  occasion  of  a  second  visit  I  met  a  Neapolitan 
scoffer,  who  declared  that  the  main  object  of  Madame 
Schwabe's  Institution  at  Naples  was  to  persuade  the  boys 
who  dive  for  pennies  in  the  Bay  of  Naples  to  wear  swimming 
drawers  ;  but  this,  Frau  Doctor  explained,  was  not  to  be 
taken  seriously. 

Herr  Dr.  Brockhaus,  head  of  the  firm,  was  a  melancholy, 

172 


1877-78  IN  GERMANY  AND  ITALY  173 

stiffly  Saxon,  orthodox  personality,  whose  one  adventure 
must  have  been  the  selection  of  a  fiery  Hungarian  Jewess 
years  younger  than  himself  for  his  life's  partner.  Torn 
between  worldly  and  artistico-intellectual  instincts,  Frau 
Doctor  had,  I  think,  never  quite  decided  what  her  true 
bent  was,  but  at  that  time,  two  of  her  sons  being  of 
marriageable  age,  the  line  was  Society  mitigated  with  a 
sprinkling  of  the  Serious.  Her  first  kind  action  as  far  as 
I  was  concerned  was  inviting  me  to  assist  at  a  German 
Christmas  under  her  roof.  I  confess  that  to  this  day  I 
have  not  made  up  my  mind  as  to  the  merits  of  that  great 
institution.  People  began  to  look  pale  and  careworn 
about  it  early  in  December,  and  spent  half  January  recover- 
ing from  exhaustion.  Where  there  are  crowds  of  very 
young  children  it  may  be  worth  all  this  fuss,  but  on  the 
whole  I  prefer  other  manifestations  of  German  thoroughness. 

Immediately  after  the  festival,  Frau  Doctor  went  off 
to  their  country  place  near  Dresden — ostensibly  on  busi- 
ness but  probably  to  recoup — and  declared  it  was  her 
intention  to  institute  herself  my  mentor  on  her  return, 
and  introduce  me  into  the  World.  The  next  great  festival, 
seeing  the  Old  Year  out,  was  celebrated  by  me  at  the 
Rontgens.  We  had  »a  grand  feast,  with  sweet  champagne 
in  very  long,  narrow  glasses  that  held  nothing,  pate  de 
joie  gras,  and  hot  punch — a  red  essence  of  some  unknown 
alcoholic  derivation,  mixed  to  one's  taste  with  boiling 
water.  I  noticed  as  on  many  subsequent  occasions  that 
Frau  Rontgen,  whose  digestion  was  magnificent,  picked 
all  the  truffles  out  of  her  helping  of  foie  gras  and  put  them 
on  her  husband's  plate — a  proceeding  that  dear  man  took 
quite  as  a  matter  of  course.  After  supper  we  all  sang 
part-songs  in  which  I  was  tenor,  when  not  bass,  and  it 
was  remarked  by  Papa  Rontgen  that  the  more  punch  was 
drunk  the  more  I  pushed  up  the  pitch — an  interesting 
effect  of  alcohol  which  makes  one  think  that  to  hand  it 
round  before  certain  a  cappella  pieces  at  concerts  would 
be  a  good  plan.  On  that  day  Julius  and  Amanda  became 
officially  engaged,  and  I  had  my  first  wondering  view  of 
untrammelled  German  demonstrativeness. 

During  these  months,  as  most  of  my  associates  knew 


I74  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED        i877-78 

not  one  word  of  English,  I  had  been  making  good  progress 
with  German.  I  have  always  found  that  understanding 
a  foreign  language  as  spoken  is  far  more  difficult  than 
learning  to  speak  it  myself — a  common  experience,  I 
daresay,  of  talkative  and  forthcoming  people  ;  and  by  way 
of  practice,  as  well  as  from  love  of  the  theatre,  had  at  once 
started  a  custom  of  going  continually  to  the  play,  especially 
on  Saturdays  and  Sundays,  when  there  were  performances 
in  the  Old  Theatre,  at  reduced  prices,  of  the  classics,  and 
also  of  certain  well-known  box-office  trumps,  such  as  '  La 
Dame  aux  Camelias,'  and  '  Adrienne  Lecouvreur.'  I  used 
to  buy  the  text  in  a  twopenny  edition,  get  it  up  thoroughly 
beforehand,  and  install  myself  in  the  first  row  of  stalls 
where  I  drank  in  every  word.  Shakespere  was  always  in 
the  repertory,  including  plays  seldom  performed,  such  as 
'  Coriolanus/  '  Cymbeline/  etc. ;  and  once  I  saw  the  three 
parts  of  Henry  VI.  squeezed  into  two,  and  Richard  III. 
played  on  successive  nights.  Gradually  I  came  to  know 
all  the  possible  and  some  of  the  impossible  plays  of  Goethe, 
Lessing,  Schiller,  Racine,  and  even  one  or  two  of  Calderon, 
and  these  Sunday  performances  were  always  crammed. 

I  must  have  been  very  innocent,  or  perhaps  only  very 
stupid,  at  that  period,  for  I  wondered  what  on  earth  the 
heavy  father  in  '  La  Dame  aux  Camelias  '  meant  when  he 
said  his  son's  liaison  with  Marguerite  could  not  possibly 
result  in  the  '  founding  of  a  family/  or  words  to  that  effect. 
Having  only  a  vague  idea  of  what  exactly  the  relation  was, 
I  puzzled  my  head  over  that  conundrum  for  two  or  three 
years  at  least — what  the  French  call  looking  for  midday 
at  fourteen  o'clock.  ...  On  the  whole  I  fear  it  was  a  case 
of  stupidity  rather  than  innocence,  for  the  great  question 
of  sex  was  a  constant  preoccupation.  But  I  would  rather 
have  died  than  discuss  it  with  any  living  soul. 

There  are  one  or  two  incidents  in  one's  past  to  think 
of  which  fills  one  with  self-loathing.  In  another  place  I 
spoke  of  such  an  incident  connected  with  a  governess's 
false  chignon  ;  but  then  I  was  a  child  of  ten  and  had  been 
deceived,  whereas  when  the  story  I  am  about  to  relate 
happened,  I  was  a  grown-up  maiden  whom  no  one  had 


1877-78  IN  GERMANY  AND  ITALY  175 

deceived ;  it  was  merely  that  ignorance  had  led  me  where 
ignorance  does  lead  the  young.  When  the  small  crash 
came,  the  proper  course  would  have  been  the  one  I  recom- 
mended to  Miss  Heimlicher  in  the  libel  business — to  do 
nothing  and  just  let  the  matter  drop ;  but  this  policy 
comes  hard  to  some  people  at  all  ages,  and  though  in  the 
Protestant  upbringing  of  youth  truthfulness  is  so  strongly 
inculcated,  we  are  never  taught  that  '  toute  v£rite  n'est 
pas  bonne  a  dire  !  '  This  is  the  only  excuse  I  can  offer 
for  this  regrettable  occurrence,  which  is  as  follows. 

In  all  these  plays  the  actress  who  took  the  tragic 
sympathetic  parts  was  one  Marie  Geistinger,  whose  career 
appealed  to  me  to  start  with.  She  had  been  a  very  cele- 
brated Operette  singer,  and  if  not  actual  creator  of  the 
role,  was  a  specially  brilliant  '  Belle  Helene  ' ;  also,  though 
of  course  I  did  not  know  this,  her  success  in  a  sister  career 
had  been  phenomenal,  Archdukes,  Grand  Dukes,  and 
great  nobles  of  all  nationalities  competing  for  her  favours. 
She  must  have  been  a  plucky  and  energetic  woman,  for 
when  her  voice  began  to  go,  and  with  it  her  celebrated 
slimness,  she  vanished  for  two  or  three  years,  to  reappear 
on  the  stage  as  tragic  actress.  She  was  at  that  time  over 
fifty,  had  a  very  fine  stage  presence,  and  was  a  tremendous 
favourite  with  -the  public.  I  have  no  idea  how  the  really 
knowledgeable  classed  her,  but  to  me,  young,  inexperienced, 
and  stage-struck,  she  was  the  ideal  embodiment  of  all  the 
heroines  I  loved  and  pitied,  and  who  were  more  real  to  me 
than  most  living  people,  such  as  Maria  Stuart,  Adrienne, 
Phedre,  Hermione  (in  '  Winter's  Tale ')  and  others.  In 
short  I  was  quite  mad  about  the  Geistinger,  and  after  the 
performances  used  to  stand  for  long  half  hours  in  snow  or 
slush  to  see  her  muffled  form  shoot  out  of  the  stage  door 
into  her  fly.  At  last  I  took  to  buying  little  bunches  of  violets 
or  roses  and  bribing  the  stage  door-keeper  to  put  them 
in  her  dressing-room,  with  my  name  and  a  few  words  of 
impassioned  admiration  on  a  card. 

This  went  on  for  quite  a  long  time,  and  at  last  one 
happy  day  I  was  given  a  note  from  '  the  gracious  lady ' 
saying  she  was  much  touched  by  my  attentions,  and  would 
like  to  thank  me  in  person,  naming  a  day  and  hour  at  which 


176  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED       1877-78 

I  should  find  her  at  such  and  such  an  address.  The  last 
was  an  unnecessary  detail,  for  countless  times,  with  skates 
in  my  hand — she  lived  on  the  way  to  the  Johannisthal — 
had  I  walked  up  her  stairs  and  past  her  door  to  leave 
fictitious  notes  on  imaginary  persons  on  the  floor  above, 
but  alas  !  without  ever  having  had  the  luck  to  meet  her. 
When  the  great  day  came,  as  I  rang  her  bell  it  seemed  my 
trembling  knees  must  surely  betray  my  agitation  to  the 
servant. 

I  don't  think  I  have  said  that  except  in  the  very  smartest 
set,  the  family  always  occupied  a  room  called  '  the  living 
room  '  in  contradistinction  to  the  real  drawing-room,  kept 
for  grand  occasions  and  familiarly  known  as  '  die  gute 
Stube  '  (the  good  room).  This  was  always  a  cold  and 
forbidding  apartment,  the  stove  being  seldom  lit,  with 
highly  polished  floor  and  chairs  arranged  geometrically 
round  the  walls.  Opposite  the  door,  on  a  smart  bit  of 
carpet,  would  be  a  table  with  plush  cover,  a  square  of 
crochet  work  and  a  flower-pot  in  the  centre,  behind  which, 
jammed  up  against  the  wall,  was  the  state  sofa ;  and  the 
hostess's  first  words  invariably  were :  '  Bitte  setzen  Sie 
sich  auf's  Sofa  ! '  ('  Please  to  seat  yourself  upon  the  sofa  '). 
I  was  ushered  into  the  '  gute  Stube/  and  without  any 
delay  the  object  of  my  adoration  appeared,  followed  by  a 
shy  young  man  whom  she  introduced  as  her  husband ;  and 
down  we  two  women  sat  on  the  sofa. 

Then  began  the  most  banal  of  all  banal  conversations 
I  have  ever  taken  part  in.  The  Geistinger  had  needlework 
of  some  kind — a  paralysing  fact  to  start  with — and  no 
doubt  was  at  her  wit's  end,  poor  thing,  what  to  say  to  this 
adoring  English  girl,  whose  German  at  that  time  was  far 
from  fluent.  As  for  me,  the  shock  of  seeing  Maria  Stuart 
at  close  quarters,  in  a  tight-fitting  dark  blue  satin  bodice 
covered  with  spangles,  rouged  up  to  the  eyes,  and  wearing 
a  fluffy  light  wig,  produced  a  commotion  in  my  breast  as 
when  the  tide  turns  against  a  strong  wind.  The  husband 
hovered  uneasily  in  the  background,  till  told  somewhat 
sharply  to  sit  down,  which  he  did,  still  very  far  off ;  but 
through  it  all  I  clung  to  the  memory  of  the  passionate 
emotions  of  the  theatre,  and  when  asked  to  admire  a  little 


1877-78  IN  GEPvMANY  AND  ITALY  177 

white  dog  of  some  odious,  fluffy,  yapping  breed,  it  was 
painful  to  have  to  say  I  only  liked  big  dogs. 

This  however  was  a  blessing  in  disguise,  for  a  quite 
animated  discussion  about  the  disadvantages  of  big  dogs 
in  towns  ensued,  whereas  up  to  that  moment  we  really 
and  truly  had  talked  about  the  weather  like  embarrassed 
people  in  books.  When  it  was  time  to  go  I  was  graciously 
invited  to  come  again,  and  any  slight  feeling  of  disappoint- 
ment was  put  down  to  knowing  that  in  my  overpowering 
shyness  I  had  cut  rather  a  poor  figure.  True,  on  reflection, 
this  greatest  of  great  ladies  on  the  stage  seemed,  in  real 
life,  strangely  unlike  any  lady  I  had  ever  met,  but  to  dwell 
on  this  thought  was  distasteful ;  indeed  the  great  difficulty 
to  people  of  a  certain  temperament  is  to  admit  the  evidence 
of  their  senses,  once  the  imagination  has  been  thoroughly 
stirred.  One  won't  see,  won't  hear,  won't  believe.  .  .  . 

After  a  decent  interval  I  went  to  see  her  again,  and  yet 
again.  As  I  now  perceive,  she  belonged  to  the  large  class 
of  actresses  who  literally  have  not  an  idea  in  their  heads 
beyond  the  theatre,  and  oh  !  how  distinctly  I  remember 
noticing,  in  spite  of  my  infatuation,  that  even  in  the  plays 
she  took  part  in,  nothing  interested  her  except  her  own 
role — a  trait  common  to  most  prime  donne  I  was  to  meet 
with  later  on.  But  I  got  over  this  somehow,  and  though  a 
determination  to  believe  in  her  hair  and  complexion  had 
to  be  abandoned,  I  got  over  that  too,  and  our  friendship, 
begun  in  the  autumn,  went  on  well  into  the  New  Year, 
though  rather  haltingly.  Strange  to  say  Frau  Doctor,  who 
in  some  ways  was  very  innocent,  and  whose  conventionality 
was  pleasantly  inconsistent,  did  not  remonstrate.  But 
remonstrance  was  to  come  ! 

Among  the  grandees  she  introduced  me  to  after  Christmas 
were  the  Tauchnitz  family,  inventors  of  the  Tauchnitz 
Edition,  he — a  German  of  course — being  English  Consul. 
Here  also  I  was  more  than  kindly  received,  and  when  it 
turned  out  that  his  friend  Lor-r-rd  Napier  of  Magdala  was 
a  connection  and  beloved  old  friend  of  my  parents  there 
was  great  enthusiasm,  and  Frau  Doctor  must  have  sighed 
a  sigh  of  relief.  I  at  once  succumbed  to  the  charms  of 
his  very  pretty  and  intensely  kind  daughter-in-law,  who 

VOL.   I.  N 


178  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED        i877-78 

like  all  Tauchnitzes  had  a  fair  knowledge  of  English  manners 
and  customs.  She  had  heard,  and  been  greatly  amused 
about,  my  passion  for  the  Geistinger,  but  was  wholly  un- 
prepared for  the  news  that  we  were  on  visiting  terms.  I 
remember  her  horrified  face  as  she  said :  '  Aber  Kind,  ganz 
gewiss  wurde  so  eine  Freundschaft  Ihrer  lieben  Frau  Mama 
sehr  unlieb  sein  1 '  ('  But  child,  I  am  sure  your  dear  Frau 
Mama  would  greatly  disapprove  of  such  a  friendship/)  And 
then,  with  infinite  discretion,  she  proceeded  to  lift  the  veil, 
Grand  Dukes  and  all.  It  appeared  that  the  young  man 
really  was  a  husband  of  sorts,  only  in  that  world  you 
married,  divorced,  and  married  again  as  often  as  you  pleased. 
In  this  particular  case  two  or  three  husbands  had  been 
tried  and  found  wanting,  the  poor  lady's  instinct  being 
evidently  to  settle  down,  but  not,  not  with  an  elderly 
admirer.  In  the  end  I  quite  allowed  the  acquaintance 
must  be  dropped,  but  unfortunately  the  only  course  which 
commended  itself  to  me  was  to  write  and  say  so  ;  which 
I  did,  adding  that  if  she  reflected  on  her  past  life  she  would 
understand  why !  I  am  thankful  to  say  I  got  no  reply  to 
this  odious  letter,  indeed  I  had  begged  there  might  be  none 
— a  cowardly  touch  added  to  the  rest. 

It  is  to  be  feared  that  in  those  days  I  admitted  no  line 
of  conduct,  no  principles,  except  those  in  which  I  had  been 
brought  up,  and  unrepentant  sinners  filled  me  with 
Pharisaical  indignation.  Thinking  over  this  incident  I 
have  often  wished  one  could  be  certain  the  Geistinger  felt 
not  the  slightest  pang  about  it,  only  amusement.  It  is 
more  than  likely  .  .  .  but  I  regret  that  letter  even  more 
than  the  chignon  business. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 
EARLY  IN  1878 

EARLY  in  January  came  the  event  to  which,  ever  since  its 
advance  announcement  by  Henschel  in  Friedrichsroda, 
everything  else  had  seemed  but  a  prelude,  the  arrival  of 
Brahms  in  Leipzig  to  conduct  his  new  Symphony  in  D 
Major.  Henschel  turned  up  from  Berlin  at  the  same  time, 
and  from  him  I  gathered  that  at  the  extra  rehearsal,  to 
which  we  outsiders  were  not  admitted,  there  had  been  a 
good  deal  of  friction.  Brahms,  as  I  found  out  later,  for 
Henschel  would  have  been  far  too  loyal  to  admit  it,  was 
not  only  an  indifferent  conductor,  but  had  the  knack  of 
rubbing  orchestras  up  the  wrong  way.  Moreover  with 
one  or  two  exceptions — notably  Rontgen,  once  an  oppo- 
nent but  now  an  enthusiastic  admirer — the  Gewandhaus 
musicians  were  inclined  to  be  antagonistic  to  his  music, 
and  indeed  considered  the  performance  of  any  new  work 
whatsoever  an  act  of  condescension.  As  for  Brahms, 
accustomed  to  the  brilliant  quality  of  Viennese  orchestras, 
which  was  to  entrance  me  equally  when  I  came  to  know 
them,  he  found  his  own  race,  the  North  Germans,  cold  and 
sticky,  and  let  them  feel  it. 

Henschel  also  informed  me  the  great  man  was  staying, 
as  usual,  with  Heinrich  von  Herzogenberg,  director  of  the 
Bach  Verein,  whose  beautiful  wife,  about  whom  the 
Rontgens  were  for  ever  raving,  was  said  to  be  the  most 
gifted  musician  and  fascinating  being  ever  met  or  heard 
of ;  Brahms  had  more  than  once  remarked  that,  but  for 
her,  he  would  never  set  foot  in  Leipzig  at  all.  To  my 
mingled  delight  and  horror  I  learned,  too,  that  Henschel 
had  actually  spoken  to  him  about  my  work,  telling  him 

179 


i8o  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED  1878 

I  had  never  studied,  that  he  really  ought  to  look  at  it  and 
so  on ;  and  after  the  general  rehearsal  this  good  friend 
clutched  and  presented  me  all  unawares.  At  that  time 
Brahms  was  clean  shaven,  and  in  the  whirl  of  emotion  I 
only  remember  a  strong  alarming  face,  very  penetrating 
bright  blue  eyes,  and  my  own  desire  to  sink  through  the 
floor  when  he  said,  as  I  then  thought  by  way  of  a  compli- 
ment, but  as  I  now  know  in  a  spirit  of  scathing  irony  :  '  So 
this  is  the  young  lady  who  writes  sonatas  and  doesn't  know 
counterpoint !  '  I  afterwards  learned  that  Henschel  had 
left  a  MS.  of  mine  (two  songs)  with  him,  that  he  subse- 
quently looked  at  them,  and  remarked  to  Frau  Ro'ntgen 
that  evidently  Henschel  had  written  them  himself  ! 

I  saw  him  again  during  that  week,  but  as  all  my  reliable 
impressions  of  him  belong  to  a  later  period,  when  I  came  to 
know  him  well,  it  is  safer  to  speak  here  of  the  Symphony, 
which,  though  it  deeply  impressed  me,  left  me  a  little 
bewildered.  I  had  yet  to  learn  that  only  a  conductor  of 
genius — for  preference  not  the  composer,  except  in  very 
rare  cases — can  produce  a  new  orchestral  work  intelligibly  ; 
at  that  time  too  the  idiom  of  Brahms  was  unfamiliar,  and 
doubtless  the  rendering  lacked  conviction.  One  thing 
I  well  remember,  that  on  this  occasion  I  first  realised 
exactly  how  much  critics  grasp  of  a  new  work  not  yet 
available  in  print.  The  great  Leipzig  Extinguisher,  after 
making  the  usual  complaints  as  to  lack  of  melody,  excess 
of  learning,  and  general  unsatisfactoriness,  remarked : 
'  About  half  way  through  the  very  tedious  first  movement 
there  is  one  transient  gleam  of  light,  a  fairly  tuneful  passage 
for  horns/  He  had  not  noticed  this  was  the  recurring 
first  theme,  which  had  already  appeared  for  those  self- 
same horns  in  the  second  bar  ! !  .  .  . 

The  Rontgens,  Klengels,  etc.,  who  were  full  of  enthusiasm 
for  the  Symphony,  had  been  asked  to  meet  Brahms  at  the 
Herzogenbergs,  and  I  heard  more  and  more  about  the 
wonderful  '  Frau  Lisl '  whom  I  wondered  if  I  should  ever 
meet,  for  they  said  she  detested  society  and  saw  no  one 
but  a  handful  of  intimates. 

•  ••••• 

Meanwhile  I  had  discovered  that  living  '  en  pension  ' 


1878  IN  GERMANY  AND  ITALY  181 

was  unnecessary  extravagance,  and  determined  to  go 
into  rooms — a  plan  Frau  Professor  took  in  excellent  part. 
This  time  luck  was  emphatically  on  my  side.  Next  door 
to  Frau  Doctor  Brockhaus,who  lived  in  the  Salomonstrasse — 
one  of  the  new  residential  streets  on  the  other  side  of  the 
town,  all  big  houses  with  wooded  gardens — I  had  often 
noticed  a  picturesque,  French-looking  old  house,  two  storied, 
with  tiled  roof  and  dormer  windows,  standing  well  back  in 
its  ramshackle  grounds.  One  day,  lo  and  behold  !  I  saw 
hanging  on  the  paling  a  little  board  with  the  device 
'  moblirte  Zimmer '  (furnished  rooms),  and  the  end  of  it 
was  that  I  took  up  my  abode  there  on  February  i,  1878. 

My  new  landlady,  Frau  Brandt,  was  a  nice  but  very 
untidy  woman  with  a  howling  mob  of  children.  There  was 
only  one  room  at  my  disposal,  and  that  with  the  wrong  aspect 
too — a  point  I  had  learned  to  take  interest  in  ;  but  as  I 
had  fallen  head  over  ears  in  love  with  the  house  and  knew 
it  was  to  pass  into  other  hands  in  the  summer,  I  decided 
to  put  up  with  everything,  provided  satisfactory  arrange- 
ments could  be  made  for  the  future. 

I  don't  think  I  have  yet  said  what  perhaps  goes  without 
saying,  that  it  was  always  understood  that  I  should  pass 
the  long  vacation — in  other  words  the  summer — at  home ; 
also  that  Papa  and  certain  relations  had  been  confident 
that  the  desire  to  live  abroad,  being  merely  a  whim,  would 
not  survive  my  first  winter.  By  this  time,  however,  they 
were  disillusioned  on  that  point  and  not  surprised  to  hear 
I  was  deep  in  domiciliary  plans  for  the  autumn.  The  in- 
coming people  were  interviewed,  and  finding  we  suited 
each  other  perfectly,  I  secured  the  promise  of  two  rooms 
I  had  set  my  heart  on  and  settled  down  contentedly  for 
the  time  being  in  Pandemonium. 

As  I  only  spent  four  months  in  the  single  room  with  the 
wrong  aspect,  I  will  describe  my  lodgings  and  my  manner 
of  life  generally  as  they  were  in  the  following  autumn, 
and  during  the  rest  of  the  time  I  lived  in  that  fascinating 
eighteenth-century  house. 

^  An  ingenious  system  was  arranged  between  my  land- 
lady and  myself,  under  which  I  ate  my  midday  meal  either 
with  the  family  or  at  a  restaurant,  according  to  the  way 


182  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED  1878 

my  day  was  planned  ;  but  I  invariably  had  supper  in  my 
own  room.  I  would  buy  a  quarter  of  a  pound  of  cold  ham 
and  some  butter  (a  store  of  beer  was  always  in  the  corner 
of  my  sitting-room),  and  there,  when  I  came  home  after  a 
concert  or  the  theatre,  I  found  the  table  ready  laid  with 
a  hunk  of  black  bread  on  it.  The  outside  wall  sloped  about 
half  way  up,  and  my  larder  was  a  new  birdcage,  resting, 
among  wild  vine  leaves,  on  the  rain-gutter  below  the  dormer 
windows,  and  leaning  crazily  against  the  roof.  There  were 
adventures  with  cats,  but  the  birdcage  defeated  them. 
On  the  other  side  of  the  house,  separating  the  front  garden 
from  the  road,  was  a  seven-foot  wooden  paling,  made  of 
uprights  and  cross  bars,  the  gate  in  which  was  locked  by 
law  at  ii  P.M.,  but  it  was  of  the  sort  an  agile  person  who 
has  forgotten  the  huge  rusty  latchkey  could  climb,  in  spite 
of  the  spikes.  Sometimes  there  would  be  belated  passers- 
by  or  a  policeman  ;  if  so  one  walked  on  up  a  side  street  and 
returned  when  the  coast  was  clear.  When  I  came  to  know 
the  smart  people,  nothing  astonished  them  more  than  that 
this  feat  was  performed  on  an  average  two  or  three  times 
a  month. 

It  was  of  course  quite  unusual  for  girls  of  my  class 
either  to  go  to  restaurants  or  walk  about  the  streets  alone 
at  night,  and  at  first  friends  used  to  implore  me  to  let  a 
servant  see  me  home  ;  but  neither  that,  nor  any  other 
curtailment  of  my  liberty,  would  I  permit.  Only  once  was 
I  spoken  to  by  a  strange  man  in  Germany,  and  remember 
insisting  on  the  fact  to  Charlie  Hunter,  who  remarked  that 
was  surely  nothing  to  boast  about. 

Reflecting  on  it  all  I  am  astonished  to  think  how  calmly, 
on  the  whole,  my  Mentor,  now  my  neighbour,  took  my 
proceedings.  In  the  depths  of  her  southern  soul  was  a 
secret  strain  of  Bohemianism  which  the  rigours  of  bourgeois 
life  in  a  particularly  conventional  North  German  town 
had  not  wholly  eradicated;  probably  she  felt  too,  that 
though  I  really  did  my  best  to  please  her  on  side  issues, 
there  was  nothing  to  be  done  with  the  ground  plan.  I 
know  that  often  when  I  asked  her  advice  she  would  say 
in  a  tragi-comic  voice  :  '  Was  niitzt's  dass  ich  dir  einen 
Rath  gebe  ?  folgen  wirst  du  doch  dich  !  '  (<  What's  the  use 


i878  IN  GERMANY  AND  ITALY  183 

of  giving  you  advice  ?  I  know  you  won't  follow  it !  ') 
Moreover  she  was  clever  enough  to  see  that  though  the 
'  nice  people/  by  way  of  explaining  their  indulgence  to 
her  protegee,  were  for  ever  reminding  each  other  feverishly 
that  I  was  English  (a  card  I  played,  alas,  poor  England  ! 
for  all  it  was  worth),  as  a  matter  of  fact  I  met  with  more 
than  tolerance,  and  but  for  the  circumstance  that  nothing 
really  counted  for  me  but  my  work,  should  have  been  in 
a  fair  way  to  become  terribly  spoiled.  My  little  song 
'  Rothraut,'  sung  with  a  strong  English  accent,  had  a  great 
success  everywhere,  and  the  Brockhaus  boys  presented  me 
with  a  black  velvet  student's  cap  lined  with  red  silk,  round 
which  was  embroidered  in  gold  and  scarlet  the  music  and 
words  of  the  first  line.  I  still  have  this  treasure,  which 
moths  have  respected,  and  of  course  adored  the  music- 
ridden  German  nation  more  than  ever. 

Invitations  to  balls — a  great  temptation — poured  in,  and 
as  I  had  left  all  my  finery  in  England  there  were  anxious 
confabulations  with  Frau  Doctor  (who  wished  me  to  do  her 
credit)  followed  by  endless  letters  to  mother,  full  of  ingenious 
and  economical  suggestions  on  the  toilette  question.  The 
worst  of  all  this  gaiety  was  that  the  candle  was  now  being 
burned  at  both  ends,  but  kind  Frau  Doctor  was,  I  fancy, 
too  interested  in  my  social  career  to  grasp  that  fact ;  any- 
how I  cannot  recall  her  advising  me  to  put  the  brake  on. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

EARLY  IN  1878 

BY  this  time  I  was  beginning  to  get  some  idea  of  social 
conditions  in  Leipzig  and  noticed  there  was  a  fairly  sharp 
division  between  three  main  classes — the  Burgher  Aris- 
tocracy (or  worldly),  the  Professorial  set,  and  the  Artists. 

To  begin  with  the  first ;  its  kernel  was  the  '  Gewand- 
haus  Gesellschaft/  a  group  of  about  forty  leading  families, 
not  necessarily  wealthy,  who  had  intermarried  for  genera- 
tions and  owned  most  of  the  woodland  villages  round 
Leipzig.  It  was  governed  by  intricate  laws  like  the  ancient 
guilds,  and  nobles  were  excluded  from  membership.  Among 
these  burgher  patricians  patriarchal  customs  prevailed ; 
in  the  town  married  sons  and  their  families  generally 
occupied  upper  floors  of  the  paternal  dwelling,  which  as 
often  as  not  was  in  the  same  building  as  their  business. 
In  the  summer  the  whole  party  migrated  to  the  country 
house  (always  within  easy  reach  of  the  town),  and  while 
'  der  Bappa  '  and  '  die  Mamma  '  inhabited  the  '  Schloss  ' — 
generally  a  pleasant,  homely  erection  no  more  like  a  castle 
than  is  many  a  French  '  chateau  ' — the  young  people  were 
dotted  about  the  grounds  in  not  very  tasteful  villas.  This 
world  had  the  defects  and  virtues  of  all  provincial  society, 
and  although,  as  I  have  indicated,  they  made  kindly 
allowances  for  strangers,  among  themselves  their  manners 
were  stiff  and  their  ideas  rather  narrow,  always  excepting 
a  certain  leading  family  I  shall  introduce  by-and-by. 

The  rural  aristocracy  (Land  Adel)  played  no  great 
part  in  Leipzig  society,  but  later  on  I  saw  some  of  them 
in  their  own  preserves  and  found  them  more  like  ourselves 
than  the  burgher  patricians.  In  fact  one  realised,  as 

184 


1878  IN  GERMANY  AND  ITALY  185 

that  fierce  rule  of  the  Gewandhaus  Gesellschaft  I  quoted 
indicates,  that  the  two  classes  had  kept  strictly  aloof 
till  quite  recent  times,  with  no  such  medium  as  our  English 
gentry — blessed  result  of  the  open-aristocracy  system — to 
bridge  the  gulf.  The  Gewandhaus  set  was  frequented  by 
the  military — Generals  of  1870,  for  instance,  in  slightly 
patronising  mood  and  smothered  with  orders,  whose  wives 
gave  themselves  amazing  airs  ;  also  by  stray  members  of 
the  Land  Adel  dotted  about  the  country  round  Leipzig, 
who  occasionally  deigned  to  mix  with  the  rich  bourgeois 
and  drink  their  champagne.  You  even  met  sprigs  of 
Royalty  in  course  of  being  laboriously  coached  for  their 
degrees  by  obsequious  professors  .  .  .  between  whiles  seeing 
life  under  the  guidance  of  our  young  swells.  Despite  the 
pride  of  class  that  I  so  much  admired  in  the  old  Leipzig 
families,  much  fuss  was  made  over  these  visitors  from  a 
higher  sphere. 

As  for  the  Professors  and  their  belongings — a  group  stiff 
with  intellectual  pretension,  whose  exaggerated  display  of 
mutual  respect  masked  mutual  hatred  and  jealousy  I  have 
never  seen  equalled — these  I  detested  at  first  sight  and 
after  one  or  two  essays  kept  out  of  their  way  for  ever  more. 
My  initiation  into  this  world — a  '  Professoren-Ball '  to 
which  Frau  Doctor  got  me  an  invitation — is  one  of  the 
fantastic  experiences  of  my  life.  Imagine  the  guests  of 
a  Lambeth  Palace  Garden  Party  of  thirty  years  ago  sud- 
denly ordered  at  a  moment's  notice  to  appear  for  the  first 
time  in  their  lives  in  a  ballroom.  .  .  .  There  were  stuff 
gowns  turned  in  at  the  neck  in  a  V  with  a  bit  of  lace  sewn 
in  ;  there  were  black  trousers  worn  beneath  grey  waist- 
coats ;  there  were  gaudy  students'  jackets  besmeared  with 
stains  from  the  restaurant ;  and,  worst  of  all,  tubs  were 
evidently  unknown  in  the  intellectual  world.  Maidens 
writhed  with  archness  and  never  ceased  giggling,  young 
men  bowed,  scraped,  and  declaimed,  flourishing  their  arms 
about,  and  at  one  moment  I  found  myself  dancing  the 
Lancers  opposite  a  youth  whose  hair  was  half-way  down 
his  back,  who  wore  someone  else's  swallow-tailed  coat, 
and  who  was  cutting  elaborate  capers  such  as  a  gorgeous 
Highlander  might  have  envied,  in  a  pair  of  double-soled 


i86  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED  1878 

boots  covered  with  mud !  .  .  .  The  elegance  of  the  really 
great  world  is  incontestable  everywhere ;  once,  when  I 
had  a  fugitive  glimpse  of  a  peasant's  ball  in  the  Bavarian 
Highlands,  with  its  beautiful  national  costumes,  long 
pipes,  and  unaffected  jollity,  I  asked  myself,  as  I  do  now, 
why,  between  Paul  Veronese  and  Jan  Steen,  must  there 
be  this  vast  tract  of  senseless,  hybrid  commonness  ?  .  .  . 

And  yet  the  professor  tribe  frisking  in  ballrooms  is 
more  sympathetic  than  pontificating  at  dinner  tables  and 
in  drawing-rooms.  Needless  to  say  there  were  remarkable 
men  among  them,  people  of  European  reputation  whom 
it  was  interesting  to  watch,  but  not  one  single  remarkable 
woman.  There  is  a  phrase  for  ever  on  German  female  lips 
that  used  to  irritate  me  :  '  Mein  Mann  sagt  .  .  .'  ('  my 
husband  says  .  .  .  '),  but  as  uttered  by  the  ignorant, 
arrogant  wives  of  these  infallible  ones  it  is  the  least  attrac- 
tive side  of  German  life  in  a  nutshell.  In  fact  the  general 
atmosphere  of  the  Professoren-Kreise 1  (I  am  speaking 
figuratively — not  alluding  to  their  ballrooms)  was  un- 
breathable. 

The  Artists  who,  as  goes  without  saying,  were  my  chief 
associates,  were  sometimes  to  be  found  wandering  about 
forlorn  in  the  circles  of  Professordom,  but  they  professed 
and  sincerely  felt  unmitigated  contempt  for  the  worldlings, 
and  were  seldom  if  ever  met  in  their  haunts.  As  stranger 
and  Englanderin — and  in  those  days  Germans  had  a 
sneaking  respect  for  English  freedom  of  spirit,  and  above 
all  for  English  table-manners — I  was  admitted  to  all  these 
various  groups,  and  confess  it  was  delightful  to  meet  again 
among  the  rich  burghers  certain  habits  of  life  one  was 
accustomed  to,  but  might  vainly  hope  to  find  elsewhere  in 
Leipzig — things  like  tubs,  horses,  and  tennis,  for  instance. 
Even  to  have  the  door  opened  by  a  smart  footman  was 
not  without  its  appeal ;  and  when  some  of  my  artist  friends 
wondered  how  anyone  could  care  to  frequent  such  frivolous 
society  I  would  stolidly  reply  :  '  In  my  father's  house  are 
many  mansions  ' — a  phrase  which,  in  the  German  equiva- 
lent, '  in  meines  Vater's  Haus  sind  viele  Wohnungen,'  lends 
itself  with  very  comic  effect  to  a  strong  English  accent 

1  Professorial  Circles  ;   thus  they  describe  themselves. 


1878  IN  GERMANY  AND  ITALY  187 

and  for  that  reason  had  a  great  success.  It  is  almost 
impossible  for  a  young  artist  to  avoid  being  narrowed  in 
matters  artistic  by  his  own  set,  but  socially  I  have  always 
held  firmly  to  a  profound,  hereditary  conviction  that  it 
takes  all  sorts  to  make  a  world. 

Later  on  I  found  that  the  snobbism  of  rank  and  wealth 
is  of  course  the  same  in  Dresden  and  Berlin  as  in  London 
or  other  capitals,  but  the  one  type  you  never  met  at  Leipzig 
was  the  International  Smart.  I  could  name  twenty  such, 
labelled  English,  French,  German,  or  Italian,  as  the  case 
may  be,  who  wear  the  same  clothes,  think  the  same  thoughts, 
and  are  practically  identical ;  such  of  course  never  dreamed 
of  coming  to  Leipzig,  hence  you  could  there  study  German 
burgher  life  in  a  state  of  comparative  purity. 

In  all  the  different  groups  mentioned  the  particular! st 
feeling  was  sure  to  crop  up  sooner  or  later.  Stray  Prus- 
sians were  perpetually  having  digs  at  the  Saxons  whom 
they  considered  servile,  false,  and  rather  stupid.  The 
Saxons,  for  their  part,  cordially  hated  the  Prussians,  but 
also  feared  them  ;  for  which  reason,  not  being  a  race  dis- 
tinguished for  moral  courage,  their  sentiments  were  only 
revealed  in  an  outburst  or  in  confidence.  Some  of  the 
Saxon  turns  of  speech  certainly  tend  to  give  their  own 
case  away  ;  for  instance  an  adjective  I  have  never  heard 
elsewhere  is  *  hinterrucksch/  used  to  qualify  people  who 
take  malevolent  action  behind  your  back  ;  and  a  real  good 
old  Leipzig  joke  is  to  say,  if  someone  disappears  without 
apparent  reason  from  the  circle,  '  He  must  have  taken 
offence  at  something ! '  But  their  most  characteristic 
phrase  is  one  that  prefaces  any  remark  whatsoever  which, 
if  repeated,  might  have  unpleasant  consequences  :  '  ich  will 
nichts  gesagt  haben  !  ' — whereby  you  are  warned  that  if 
necessary  the  remark  will  be  disavowed.  Farther  than 
this  caution  cannot  go  !  Still,  as  soon  as  I  became  capable 
of  distinguishing,  I  infinitely  preferred  the  kindly,  humane, 
homely  Saxons  to  the  overbearing  Prussians,  particularly 
after  a  winter  spent  in  Berlin. 

From  the  very  first  dialect  interested  me — a  matter 
which  can  be  only  studied  to  a  very  limited  extent  among 
the  educated  in  our  islands  ;  thus  I  soon  mastered  the 


i88  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED  1878 

varieties  and  found  out  what  a  soul-revealing  medium  it 
is.  To  speak  of  only  a  few  blatant  instances,  the  Prussian 
dialect  is  harsh,  clean-cut,  and  uncompromising;  the 
Bavarian,  though  easy-going  and  good-natured  on  the 
surface,  suggests  fathomless  depths  of  brutality  below; 
whereas  through  the  Austrian  turn  of  speech— careless, 
fascinating,  and  slightly  nasal— there  gleams  at  its  worst 
a  cold,  smiling,  rather  Oriental  cruelty  as  unlike  brutality 
as  the  East  is  unlike  the  West.  But  in  the  peculiar  language 
spoken  in  Leipzig,  including  diction,  intonation,  and  every 
imaginable  harmonic,  there  is  a  deliberate  wallowing  in  the 
inesthetic,  a  culte  of  the  ungraceful,  of  which  Leipzigers 
themselves  are  quite  conscious  though  few  emancipate 
themselves  wholly  from  its  thraldom.  And  no  one  reviles 
the  Saxon  dialect  more  mercilessly  than  travelled  Saxons. 

Meanwhile,  in  whatever  set  I  might  happen  to  find 
myself,  three  names  were  constantly  on  all  lips,  uttered 
with  respect,  admiration,  or  devotion,  as  the  case  might 
be.  Hitherto  for  various  reasons  I  had  met  none  of  these 
evidently  remarkable  personalities ;  then  suddenly  Fate 
made  good,  and  in  the  course  of  a  single  week  Livia  Frege, 
Lili  Wach,  and  Elisabeth  von  Herzogenberg  swam  into 
my  orbit. 

When  you  whisper  certain  names  to  yourself  a  cathedral 
lights  up  in  the  dark  recesses  of  memory,  and  all  who  knew 
her  would  agree  that  the  name  Livia  Frege  is  one  of  these. 
In  her  youth  she  had  been  a  very  celebrated  concert  singer, 
and  some  of  Mendelssohn's  and  Schumann's  finest  songs 
are  dedicated  to  '  Livia  Gerhardt ' ;  now,  on  the  threshold 
of  old  age,  she  was  a  great  lady,  but  also  the  simplest- 
hearted,  warmest  friend  of  every  true  artist  in  the  place. 
One  of  those  women  born  to  the  purple,  with  the  prestige 
of  a  glorious  artistic  past  thrown  in,  there  was  a  sheer 
lovableness  about  her  that  I  partly  ascribe  to  the  bluest, 
most  eternally  youthful  eyes  ever  seen.  She  had  married 
when  very  young  a  Leipzig  banker  and  left  the  concert 
room  for  ever ;  some  say  nothing  short  of  this  renunciation 
would  satisfy  the  burgher-patrician  parents-in-law,  but  to 
separate  Livia  Frege  from  music  was  beyond  anyone's  power. 


i878  IN  GERMANY  AND  ITALY  189 

I  first  met  her  in  the  sort  of  State  Box  over  the  orchestra 
in  the  old  Gewandhaus,  which,  though  other  mortals  in 
part  owned  it,  was  always  called  the  '  Frege  Loge.'  She 
had  heard  of  me  from  the  Rontgens,  and  when  someone 
told  this  Queen  that  in  the  little  basket  I  hung  on  a  peg 
in  that  sacred  box  was  a  parcel  of  cold  ham,  she  replied 
according  to  legend :  '  And  pray  why  not  ?  '  in  a  manner 
that  rolled  the  would-be  mischief-maker  out  flat.  Li  via 
had  once  been  a  very  poor  young  artist  herself,  but  perhaps 
her  interlocutor  had  forgotten  the  fact.  Though  stately  to 
a  degree,  and  prejudiced  in  an  old-fashioned  pleasant  way, 
she  took  me  at  once  into  her  good  graces,  told  me  to  call 
her  '  Du  '  and  '  Frau  Li  via/  and  I  am  certain  had  pleasure 
in  the  adoration  it  was  impossible  even  for  the  old  and 
cold,  let  alone  the  young  and  hot,  to  help  lavishing  on  her. 

She  was  very  religious,  not  in  the  alternately  blatant 
and  gushing  style  affected  by  many  pious  Germans  and 
hall-marked  by  the  Hohenzollerns,  but  with  absolute 
simplicity.  On  the  subject  of  evil  communications  cor- 
rupting good  manners  she  was  particularly  strong,  and 
once  told  me  she  had  never  listened  to  a  Wagner  opera 
because  she  wished  to  keep  herself  '  musically  pure/ 
Said  as  she  said  it,  and  given  her  past,  this  was  not  in 
the  least  unsympathetic ;  it  fitted  in  somehow  with  her 
gentle,  serious  idealism,  which  again  was  saved  from 
sentimentality  by  a  gift  of  pealing  laughter  that  made 
heavy-minded  admirers  stare.  So  beautiful,  so  dignified, 
almost  an  old  woman,  and  yet  able  to  nearly  die  of  laugh- 
ing like  the  very  young !  I  used  to  note  the  beauty  in 
her  face  and  voice  when  she  spoke  of  Mendelssohn,  who, 
with  his  wife,  had  been  of  her  most  intimate  friends. 
A  world  that  since  then  had  begotten  Brahms,  not  to 
speak  of  Wagner,  was  growing  contemptuous  of  its  former 
idol,  and  she  was  aware  of  the  fact,  but  did  not  consider 
it  necessary  even  to  discuss  the  matter.  No  insistence  on 
his  merit,  no  apology — just  the  old  love  and  faith.  I 
thought  this  attitude  wonderful,  but  to  carry  it  through 
you  had  to  be  Livia  of  the  light-holding  sapphire  eyes. 

Years  after  her  death  H.  B.  once  said  casually :  '  Ah 
yes — Frau  Frege — she  was  Mendelssohn's  mistress,  wasn't 


igo  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED  1878 

she  ?  '  Recovered  from  the  shock  of  realising  that  even 
in  a  world  as  mad  as  ours  such  a  legend  could  have  a 
second's  life,  we  began  inventing  analogous  questions,  such 
as  '  Didn't  S.  Theresa  elope  with  Ignatius  Loyola  ?  '  or 
'  Wasn't  George  Sand  Musset's  grandmother  ?  '  etc.,  etc., 
but  to  those  who  knew  my  old  Leipzig  friend  nothing  as 
fantastic  as  the  original  proposition  can  be  coined. 

Frau  Livia  had  a  weakness  for  princes,  which  fact  was 
commented  on  sarcastically  by  some  of  the  worldlings 
and  may  have  secretly  troubled  simple-minded  humbler 
friends.  But  as  these  never  found  themselves  neglected 
because  of  the  Royalties  where  was  the  harm  ?  To  the 
market  of  life  this  highly  inbred  race  brings  a  quite  special 
contribution,  to  take  no  interest  in  which  is  surely  not  a 
sign  of  superiority  ?  indeed  one  can  say  of  Royalty  what 
has  been  said  of  God,  that  if  it  did  not  exist  it  would  have 
to  be  invented.  The  proof  is  that  again  and  again  it  has 
been  swept  away  ...  to  be  re-instated  by  succeeding 
generations ;  and  so  I  hope  and  believe  it  will  be  to  the 
end  of  time. 

Many  a  young  musician  used  to  be  given  a  preliminary 
canter  at  Frau  Livia's  house  before  a  select  audience,  and 
it  was  on  the  first  of  these  occasions  attended  by  me  that 
I  met  the  two  other  bright  jewels  in  Leipzig's  crown. 

Lili  Wach  was  the  only  absolutely  normal  and  satis- 
factory specimen  I  have  ever  met  of  a  much-to-be-pitied 
genus,  the  children  of  celebrated  personalities ;  she  was 
Mendelssohn's  youngest  daughter,  and  judging  by  their 
portraits  must  have  been  more  like  her  Christian  mother 
than  her  Jewish  father.  Yet  both  the  delicately  cut  profile 
and  soul  to  match  had  a  touch  of  Israel  at  its  best,  and 
she  used  to  say :  '  Make  allowance  for  Jewish  caution  ! ' 
when  a  certain  shrinking  from  positive  statements  held 
back  the  emphatic  '  Yes '  or  '  No  '  demanded.  She  was 
very  musical,  but  being  her  father's  daughter  and  extremely 
reserved  by  nature  she  kept  the  fact  so  dark  that  few 
people  knew  it. 

Her  husband,  a  distinguished  Prussian  lawyer,  was 
notoriously  musical.  One  of  the  most  interesting  men  I 
have  ever  met,  he  was  also,  as  I  realised  later,  a  typical 


LILI  WACH  (nee  MENDELSSOHN  BARTHOLDY),  1877. 


i878  IN  GERMANY  AND  ITALY  191 

modern  German  in  many  respects.  Yet  not  in  all,  for 
though  Professor  of  Jurisprudence  at  the  Leipzig  University 
and  terrifically  learned,  there  was  not  the  faintest  touch 
of  pedantry  about  him — a  fact  which  privately  scandalised 
some  of  his  Saxon  colleagues.  Man  of  action  and  politician 
he  was  suspected  of  aiming  at  high  honours  in  the  Prussian 
bureaucracy,  and  it  was  the  fashion  to  question  the  sincerity 
of  his  religious  convictions  which  were  of  the  Hohenzollern 
brand  ;  but  being  fond  of  him  I  put  this  down  to  jealousy. 
One  day,  however,  at  a  funeral  from  a  friend's  house,  where 
the  usual  speechifying  round  the  coffin  was  led  by  the 
pastor  in  the  orthodox  inflated  style — a  style  even  culti- 
vated people  accept  as  the  proper  thing — what  was  my 
astonishment  at  hearing  Wach  hold  forth  in  exactly  the 
same  key  !  .  .  .  Wach,  of  all  critics  of  other  men's  oratory 
the  most  pitiless  !  Since  then,  having  re-read  the  Book 
of  Joshua,  and  grasped  that  the  role  of  God  in  the  Prussian 
world-scheme  is  identical  with  that  of  Jehovah  in  the 
Wars  of  Israel,  it  seems  likely  that  Wach,  an  ambitious 
man,  deliberately  poured  sincere  convictions  into  this 
particular  mould.  That  is  why  he  was  a  typical  figure. 
Otherwise  the  most  spontaneous  of  beings,  warm-hearted, 
tempestuous,  and  brimming  with  sense  of  humour,  his 
wife  would  plead  with  gentle  irony  that  there  was  enough 
violence,  vitality,  and  definite  assertion  in  the  house  with- 
out her  emerging  from  her  shell. 

My  friendship  with  Lili  Wach  was  destined  to  become 
only  second  to  the  still  closer  relation  I  am  about  to  speak 
of.  As  for  Wach,  who  had  a  great  reputation  as  moun- 
taineer, his  wife  always  maintained  it  was  natural  that 
we  should  have  taken  to  each  other  at  first  sight,  being 
chips  of  the  same  block.  His  theories  on  large  families, 
which  I  have  confessed  to  sharing,  were  ultimately  her 
death,  she  being  far  too  frail  for  child-bearing  on  the  scale 
he  insisted  on.  But  I  loved  these  too  numerous  children, 
in  whose  eyes,  because  of  clambering  over  the  paling  (and 
later  on  because  of  a  big  dog  of  mine)  I  became  a  sort  of 
legendary  figure,  and  with  whom  I  kept  up  a  warm  friend- 
ship that  only  the  war  interrupted. 


CHAPTER  XX 

EARLY  IN  1878 

AND  now,  if  these  memoirs  were  a  Masque,  I  should  bid 
the  musicians  and  electricians  conspire  with  me  to  usher 
on  becomingly  the  last  and  best  beloved  of  my  trio  of 
L's — Lisl,  otherwise  Elisabeth  von  Herzogenberg. 

The  published  correspondence  between  her  and  Brahms, 
and  also  various  references  to  her  in  his  Biography,  have 
given  the  world  some  idea  of  the  personality  of  this 
remarkable  woman,  in  whose  house  I  became  what  he 
always  called  me,  '  the  child/  till  Fate  violently  and  irre- 
vocably parted  us.  At  the  time  I  first  met  her  she  was 
twenty-nine,  not  really  beautiful  but  better  than  beautiful, 
at  once  dazzling  and  bewitching ;  the  fairest  of  skins, 
fine-spun,  wavy  golden  hair,  curious  arresting  greenish- 
brown  eyes,  and  a  very  noble  rather  low  forehead,  behind 
which  you  knew  there  must  be  an  exceptional  brain.  I 
never  saw  a  more  beautiful  neck  and  shoulders  ;  so  marvel- 
lously white  were  they,  that  on  the  very  rare  occasions  on 
which  the  world  had  a  chance  of  viewing  them  it  was  apt 
to  stare — thereby  greatly  disconcerting  their  owner,  whose 
modesty  was  of  the  type  that  used  to  be  called  maidenly. 
In  fact  the  great  problem  was  to  prevent  her  swathing 
them  in  chiffon. 

About  middle  height,  the  figure  was  not  good ;  she 
stooped  slightly,  yet  the  effect  was  graceful  and  ingratiating, 
rather  as  though  she  were  bending  forward  to  look  at  you 
through  the  haze  of  her  own  golden  atmosphere.  In  spite 
of  this  aetherial  quality  there  was  a  touch  of  homeliness 
about  her — to  use  the  word  in  its  best  sense — a  combina- 
tion I  have  never  met  with  in  anyone  else.  Of  great 
natural  capacity  rather  than  well  informed,  a  brilliant, 

192 


1878 


IN  GERMANY  AND  ITALY 


193 


most  original  talker,  very  amusing,  and  an  inimitable 
mimic,  she  managed  in  spite  of  all  her  gifts  to  retain  the 
childlike  spirit  which  is  one  of  the  sympathetic  traits  in 
the  German  character— and  what  is  more,  to  blend  it  with 
the  strong-pinioned  fascination  of  one  who  could  but  know, 
like  Phyllis  in  the  song,  that  she  never  failed  to  please. 
And  this  is  surely  a  remarkable  achievement !  It  really 
was  true  that  with  her  sunshine  came  in  at  the  door, 
and  both  sexes  succumbed  equally  to  her  charm.  As  her 
marriage  was  notoriously  happy,  possibly  too  because 
her  brilliant  talents  inspired  a  certain  awe,  men  did  not 
dare  make  love  to  her,  not  at  least  the  sort  of  men  she 
met  at  Leipzig.  But  I  fancy  that  in  other  circumstances 
a  small  flirtation  would  not  have  been  disdained ;  I  used 
to  tell  her  that  when  talking  to  men  she  became  a  different 
woman — a  difference  which  though  slight  was  perceptible 
— but  this  mild  accusation  didn't  fit  in  with  her  scheme 
of  things  and  was  eagerly  repudiated. 

In  a  burgher  world  it  certainly  went  for  something  that 
this  siren  was  an  aristocrat.  Sincerely  as  everyone  in 
the  artist  set  despised  worldliness,  I  think  her  exploits  in 
the  kitchen  (for  among  other  things  she  was  a  heaven- 
inspired  cook)  gained  in  picturesqueness  when  you  reflected, 
that  had  the  Court  of  Hanover  not  come  crumbling  about 
their  ears  in  early  youth,  she  and  her  sister  Julia  Brewster 
would  have  been  Maids  of  Honour.  Logic  has  made  great 
strides  in  Germany,  but  at  that  time  there  were  still  a  few 
illogical  people  about. 

The  essential  point  was  of  course  her  musical  genius. 
Almost  by  instinct  she  read  and  played  from  score  as  do 
few  routined  conductors,  and  in  judgment,  critical  faculty, 
and  all  round  knowledge  was  the  perfect  musician.  And 
yet,  though  if  ever  I  worshipped  a  being  on  earth  it  was 
Lisl,  her  singing  and  playing  left  me  cold.  This  critical 
attitude  on  the  part  of  a  novice  might  well  have  vexed 
one  accustomed  to  unqualified  admiration  on  all  sides, 
from  Brahms  downwards  ;  but  being  quite  unspoiled  she 
was  only  puzzled,  and  used  sometimes  to  ask  :  '  How  comes 
it  that  thou  alone  dost  not  love  my  music-making  ?  '  to 
which  I  would  reply,  as  I  believed,  that  thinking  too  much 

VOL.    I.  O 


I94  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED  1878 

about  voice-production  and  fingering  interfered  with  her 
spontaneity,  never  guessing  that  what  was  lacking  was 
the  one  thing  needful,  passion.  At  the  bottom  of  all  that 
tender  warmth  and  enthusiasm — '  Gemiith  '  as  the  Germans 
call  it — was  a  curious  hardness  of  which  in  all  the  years 
of  our  friendship  I  saw  but  one  passing  sign,  and  which 
perhaps  nothing  short  of  one  of  those  catastrophes  that 
shake  human  nature  to  its  foundations  would  have  laid 
bare.  Her  music  betrayed  it,  but  here  again  she  was  so 
richly  equipped,  and  the  spell  her  musicality  cast  was  so 
potent,  that  as  far  as  I  know  others  were  not  conscious 
of  fundamental  coldness.  Years  afterwards  her  brother- 
in-law  H.  B.  told  me  that  he  had  guessed  it,  and  once 
in  the  early  days  of  our  acquaintanceship  in  Florence 
(1883)  I  remember  his  saying  that  to  drive  a  spear  too 
deeply  into  that  soil  might  be  to  break  its  point.  But  as 
I  was  the  only  outsider  on  spear-driving  terms  of  intimacy 
with  her,  no  one  had  put  it  to  the  proof,  and  at  the  time 
that  remark  was  made  it  was  indignantly  brushed  aside 
by  me. 

I  noticed  early  in  the  day,  however,  in  connection  with 
a  third  person,  that  she  had  not  much  psychological  instinct, 
not  in  deep  places  at  least.  Complex  natures  baffled  her, 
and  I  would  sometimes  charge  her  with  lacking  the  sort 
of  poetic  imagination  that  saves  you  from  cracking  your 
brain  over  odd  twists  and  turns  of  character.  '  Surely  if 
you  do  this  or  that,  it  is  natural  that  the  other  person 
should  react  thus  and  thus  ?  '  she  would  say  in  cases  where 
it  was  obvious  that  the  person  would  react  in  quite  another 
manner ;  and  once  she  astonished  me  by  writing :  '  To 
understand  a  person's  action  means,  surely,  that  you 
yourself  would  act  thus  in  their  place  ?  ' 1  which  I  thought 
a  fantastic  interpretation  of  understanding. 

Again  I  had  always  assumed  that  harmony  was  the 
crown,  the  final  polish,  the  ultimate  subjection  of  possibly 
dissonant  elements,  not  the  avoiding  of  dissonance  for  the 
sake  of  consonance.  '  Take  all  that  comes  along,  all  at 
least  that  matters,  and  work  it  into  your  scheme  somehow  ' 

1  Appendix,  ii.  p,  24,  No.  9. 


1878  IN  GERMANY  AND  ITALY  195 

— such  was  my  unformulated  creed  .  .  .  but  it  was  not 
Lisl's.  In  the  light  of  what  happened  afterwards — the 
eternal  small  crises  all  down  the  years  as  well  as  the  final 
breach — I  see  in  her  not  only  a  temperamental  worship 
of  harmony  at  any  cost,  but  recognise  how  almost  uncon- 
sciously, and  with  infinite  skill,  she  avoided  conflicts ;  also 
that  those  who  associated  with  her,  from  her  husband 
downwards,  took  care  that  no  tempest  should  ruffle  her 
sunny  serenity.  This  dislike  of  stress  and  storm  was  never 
connected  in  my  mind,  nor  I  think  in  the  minds  of  those 
who  conformed  to  it,  with  the  valvular  heart  disease  which 
was  a  perpetual  source  of  secret  terror  and  distress  to  me, 
and  of  which  she  was  to  die  when  relatively  a  young  woman. 
But  nowadays,  having  noticed  how  an  obscure  instinct  of 
self-preservation  determines  the  course  of  persons  thus 
afflicted,  I  think  her  malady  was  probably  as  great  a  factor 
in  our  story  as  any  other. 

This  by  the  way.  Meanwhile  in  that  Spring  of  1878, 
making  straight  for  the  sheltered  waters  on  which,  like  an 
enchanted  boat,  her  soul  was  floating,  there  appeared  on 
the  horizon  ...  a  Stormy  Petrel ! 

Herzogenberg,  or,  to  give  him  his  full  title,  Heinrich 
Freiherr  von  Herzogenberg,  was  a  few  years  older  than 
his  wife,  and  had  been  brought  up  by  the  Jesuits  for  the 
priesthood,  as  are  many  younger  sons  of  noble  Austrian 
families ;  but  on  reaching  adolescence  he  rebelled  in  order 
to  devote  himself  to  music — as  unheard  of  a  thing  in  his 
walk  of  life  as  in  mine.  The  family  was  originally  French, 
his  grandfather,  Vicomte  Picot  de  Peccaduc,  having  emi- 
grated to  Bohemia  at  the  time  of  the  French  Revolution 
and  taken  the  name  and  title  of  Freiherr  von  Herzogenberg 
— a  correct  but  inadequate  rendering  of  his  own  fine 
patronymic.  A  slight  Jesuitical  strain  in  the  grandson, 
which  he  was  quite  aware  of  but  which  never  affected  him 
in  the  larger  issues  of  life,  worked  in  delightfully  with  his 
humanness,  culture,  and  abounding  sense  of  humour. 
Though  without  her  glamour — and  who  would  wish  to 
find  two  such  shining  ones  under  the  same  roof  ? — he  was 
quite  as  much  beloved  by  those  who  knew  them  well  as 


ig6  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED  1878 

his  wife.  Of  course  he  adored  her,  and  in  one  of  her 
early  letters,  she,  the  least  vain  of  women,  told  me  how 
delighted  she  had  been,  when  finding  himself  near  her  at 
some  smart  party  (and  of  an  evening  she  was  positively 
dazzling)  he  remarked  in  the  dry,  comic  way  his  friends 
knew  so  well :  '  Abgesehen  von  aller  Verwandschaft 
muss  ich  gestehen  dass  du  hiibsch  bist '  ('  Apart  from 
relationship  I  must  confess  that  thou  art  pretty '). 

A  more  learned  musician  can  never  have  existed ; 
without  trouble  he  turned  out  fugues,  canons,  etc.,  etc., 
that  could  be  read  backwards,  upside  down,  or  in  a  looking- 
glass — a  gift  that  has  as  little  to  do  with  music,  perhaps, 
as  tying  yourself  into  knots  or  playing  twelve  games  of 
chess  at  once,  but  which  is  certainly  rare  and  remarkable. 
He  used  to  compose  for  a  given  number  of  hours  daily, 
and  as  may  be  guessed  the  result  was  often  dry.  I  know 
not  with  what  ambition  he  started  his  career,  but  remember 
his  once  remarking  rather  touchingly  that  he  made  no 
claim  to  having  anything  new  to  say — merely  hoped  to 
hand  on  the  good  tradition.  As  was  inevitable  with  such 
a  wife,  he  arranged  all  his  works  for  piano  duett,  which 
was  one  of  the  very  few  trials  connected  with  this  ideal 
couple,  for  he  had  a  touch  like  a  paving  stone.  She  was 
as  devoted  to  him  as  he  to  her,  and  in  sympathetic  com- 
pany a  very  discreet  little  mutual  demonstration  would 
sometimes  take  place ;  this  their  adoring  -  world  found 
delightful,  and  eventually  I  learned  to  accept  it  as  part 
of  the  German  civilisation. 

The  Wachs  and  Herzogenbergs,  who  at  once  became 
the  kernel  of  my  Leipzig  existence,  associated  but  super- 
ficially and  in  a  slight  spirit  of  superiority  with  various 
other  friends  of  mine  to  whom  I  was  deeply  attached — 
worldlings  in  whose  company,  as  hinted  above,  certain 
aspects  of  home  life  were  found  again.  Chief  among  these 
was  a  family  whose  name  heads  the  list  when  I  am  meditat- 
ing unpayable  debts  for  kindnesses  received.  The  master 
of  the  house,  Consul  Limburger,  was  a  wealthy  wool 
merchant  and  the  only  real  man  of  the  world  in  Leipzig, 
gay,  handsome,  well  turned  out,  and  without  a  touch 


1878  IN  GERMANY  AND  ITALY  197 

of  German  heaviness.  Serious  persons  considered  him 
frivolous  but  were  none  the  less  obliged  to  follow  his  lead, 
for  he  was  the  moving  spirit  of  the  whole  place.  As 
president  of  the  Gewandhaus  Concert  Committee  he 
fought  hard  against  the  intense  conservatism  of  that  body 
and  it  was  mainly  his  work  that  the  Siegfried  Idyll  was 
forced  on  to  the  programme — a  crime  to  forgive  him  which 
took  all  Frau  Livia's  Christian  charity,  and  needless  to 
say  she  was  among  the  absentees  at  that  concert.  He 
further  managed  the  Gewandhaus  Balls,  the  big  suppers 
given  to  passing  celebrities,  and  started  various  innova- 
tions in  sport,  such  as  paper-chases  on  horseback  and  I 
think  polo.  Finally  he  had  the  best  cook  in  Leipzig,  and 
once  told  me  his  luxury  was  to  expect  whatever  wine  he 
ordered  to  appear  on  his  table  and  .  .  .  never  to  check 
his  cellar-book.  The  same  system  of  not  enquiring  into 
things  too  closely  was  observed  as  regards  his  sons,  and 
I  fear  laid  up  trouble  for  him  in  later  life. 

His  wife  had,  in  certain  subtle  ways,  more  affinity 
with  the  people  one  knew  at  home  than  anyone  else  in 
the  town.  I  cannot  quite  sum  it  up  by  saying  she  was 
a  gentlewoman — there  were  other  Leipzig  ladies  who  could 
claim  to  be  that  of  course — but  these  had  a  touch  of  pro- 
vincialism, whereas  behind  her  quality  was  a  larger  civilisa- 
tion, something  which  I  really  believe  none  of  her  intimates 
noticed  except  myself.  She  was  of  an  old  patrician 
Frankfort  family  and  her  conversation  was  interlarded 
with  French  phrases  like  the  letters  of  Goethe's  mother, 
another  Frankfort  woman.  Now  here  is  a  curious  fact 
I  had  no  enthusiastic  soul-to-soul  alliance  with  her  as  with 
Frau  Li  via  and  others — it  was  just  the  friendly  relation 
between  a  woman  of  the  world  and  a  girl  she  is  kind  to ; 
and  yet,  at  the  most  difficult  moment  of  my  life,  merely 
by  taking  it  for  granted  that  certain  people  don't  do  certain 
things,  however  strongly  circumstances  seem  to  point  that 
way,  she  in  great  measure  saved  the  situation  for  me — as 
will  be  told  when  the  time  comes.  Expressed  gratitude, 
expressed  anything,  would  have  embarrassed  her  beyond 
words  but  .  .  .  she  knew  that  I  knew ;  and  afterwards, 
when  terrible  sorrow  came  to  her,  I  think  it  was  some 


198  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED  1878 

comfort  to  talk  to  me  by  the  hour,  that  silent  bond  being 
between  us. 

In  my  experience  with  her  I  first  learned  what  sub- 
sequent knowledge  of  life  has  confirmed,  that  when  you 
are  in  a  tight  place  worldlings  are  often  better  Christians 
than  the  elect.  And  another  thing ;  this  old  friend  had 
peculiarities  that  most  people  found  rather  ridiculous  and 
beyond  which  they  never  got.  But  such  eccentricities 
often  argue  an  absence  of  all  preoccupation  with  self,  a 
purity  of  spirit  that  seems  to  me  beyond  all  else  rare  and 
lovable — and  this  was  her  case. 

The  Limburgers  were  typically  German  in  that,  with 
the  exception  of  the  mother  and  the  one  daughter,  every 
member  of  the  family  was  as  much  at  home  in  music  as 
ducks  in  water.  They  danced,  shot,  rode,  skated,  besides 
being  assiduous  young  men  of  business,  but  all  played  the 
piano  or  some  other  instrument,  and  a  new  work  performed 
at  the  Gewandhaus  was  as  much  an  event  for  them  as  for 
the  Herzogenbergs.  Their  criticisms  may  have  been  less 
technical  but  I  discussed  music  as  gladly  with  them  as 
with  many  an  expert ;  and  this  is  the  supreme  charm  of 
a  musical  civilisation — that  amateurs  are  in  it  and  of  it 
as  well  as  professionals.  What  a  bore  it  would  be  if  you 
could  only  talk  books  in  literary  circles,  and  what  a  com- 
fort that  reading  can  never  become  a  fashionable  fad,  to 
which,  alas  !  in  unmusical  countries  music  so  fatally  lends 
itself ;  thus  does  the  smart  world  go  to  concerts  in  Paris, 
and  in  London  to  the  Opera. 


Before  leaving  the  subject  of  Leipzig  personalities  I 
must  mention  two  sisters  who  were  an  integral  part  of 
the  scene.  One,  Frau  von  B.,  was  the  widow  of  the  only 
aristocrat  except  Herzogenberg  who  had  ever  been  a 
composer  of  merit.  This  wise  and  wealthy  man,  in  order 
to  satisfy  the  baulked  maternal  instincts  of  his  childless 
wife,  had  left  a  small  fortune  for  the  founding  of  a  home 
for  seven  poor  musical  students,  to  be  built  in  his  big 
garden  and  run  by  his  widow.  On  the  subject  of  her 
guardianship  of  these  ever-recurring  batches  of  youths, 


1878  IN  GERMANY  AND  ITALY  199 

popularly  known  after  the  well-known  folk  tale  as  '  the 
Seven  Ravens/  volumes  might  be  written ;  how  they  were 
either  talented  but  too  rascally  to  keep,  or  talentless  but 
too  charming  to  turn  out.  The  true  stories  of  their  esca- 
pades, together  with  the  versions  they  themselves  related 
to  their  guardian,  used  to  go  the  round  of  the  town ;  I 
think  she  suspected  the  truth  more  than  was  generally 
supposed,  but  like  many  people  found  it  convenient  to 
feign  ignorance. 

If  this  kindest,  most  generous  and  lovable  of  old  ladies 
was  a  little  on  the  grotesque  side,  her  sister,  Frau  Dr.  E. 
was  surely  the  most  fantastic  figure  ever  accepted  and 
assimilated  by  civilised  society.  I  have  described  the 
astonishing  Leipzig  dialect,  but  as  spoken  by  Frau  Dr.  E., 
who,  from  the  crown  of  her  head  to  the  soles  of  her  feet, 
showed  what  Nature  in  ungracious  mood  can  achieve  when 
she  gives  her  mind  to  it,  it  killed  all  conversation  around 
her  (just  as  the  celebrated  garlic  of  the  Rosenthal  over- 
powered the  scent  of  other  flowery  growths)  ;  .  .  .  further  it 
was  her  habit  to  say  out  loud  things  which  as  a  rule  only 
escape  one  in  unguarded  moments. 

The  advantage  of  a  self-contained  provincial  society 
is  that  originals  are  permitted  to  luxuriate  in  peace ;  thus 
amazing  types  of  monk  are  seen  prowling  about  in  Italy 
such  as  are  only  produced  within  monastery  walls.  And 
when  I  think  sadly  of  dead  and  gone  romantic  Germany, 
it  is  an  additional  pang  to  reflect  that  with  dwarfs,  gnomes, 
and  witches  on  broomsticks,  figures  such  as  Frau  Dr.  E. 
have  disappeared  for  ever. 

The  first  time  I  saw  her  was  at  a  musical  gathering  at 
her  sister's ;  I  noticed  a  massive  old  woman  yawning  as 
if  her  jaw  would  drop  off  who  presently  said  to  Frau 
Rontgen  :  '  Do  not  think,  best  Frau  Concertmeister,  it  is 
because  I  am  bored,  but  whenever  your  dear  husband 
plays  the  fiddle  it  sets  me  yawning/  I  duly  called  on  her 
later,  as  politeness  demanded,  and  when  I  expressed  regret 
at  not  finding  her  in  she  remarked  :  '  Well,  I  cannot  say 
I  regret  it  for  to  tell  the  truth  you  are  to  me  from  my 
heart  unsympathetic — but  I  believe  the  kernel  is  good.' 
She  was  a  widow  without  family,  rich  and  incredibly 


200  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED  1878 

stingy,  and  being  devoid  of  false  shame,  many  of  the  E. 
anecdotes  for  ever  flying  about  were  on  that  theme.  At 
a  supper  she  gave  to  the  Seven  Ravens  I  heard  her  say 
loudly  when  a  grand  ice-cream  appeared  :  '  This  is  only  to 
be  handed  round  once  ' ;  another  time,  while  slowly  turning 
the  pages  of  a  subscription  list,  she  observed  to  the  col- 
lector without  a  smile  :  '  Let  me  see  what  is  the  smallest 
sum  one  can  give/  Again,  cabs  in  those  days  cost  five 
groschen  for  one  person,  and  six  groschen  for  two.  A 
piteously  poor  friend  of  hers  was  once  driven  by  her  to 
a  concert,  and  knowing  her  patroness's  peculiarities  duly 
handed  over  three  groschen  ;  and  the  incoming  stream  of 
concert-goers  heard  Frau  Dr.  E.  say,  in  her  slow,  final 
way :  '  No,  thou  needst  not  pay  half,  but  thy  groschen 
thou  canst  well  pay/  whereupon  she  selected  and  pocketed 
two  halfpennies. 

There  is  in  many  circles  of  society  an  individual  corre- 
sponding to  the  Court  Fool,  an  enfant  terrible  who  performs, 
like  Tragedy  in  the  Aristotelian  sense,  a  universal  purgative 
rite,  delivering  other  bosoms  of  perilous  stuff.  Such  a 
benefactress  was  Frau  Dr.  E.,  than  whom  the  world  can 
better  spare  many  a  more  decorative  figure. 


CHAPTER  XXI 
SPRING  1878 

AND  now,  having  given  some  idea  of  the  people  who  made 
up  my  new  world,  I  will  go  back  to  the  moment  when  I 
first  met  the  Herzogenbergs,  that  is  the  end  of  February 
1878.  I  knew  at  once  for  certain  that  we  belonged  in  the 
same  group,  as  the  ensuing  years  were  to  prove,  and  though 
aware  of  her  notorious  aversion  to  new  relations  trusted 
to  music  to  build  a  bridge  between  us,  which  it  did.  Both 
of  them  told  me  they  had  heard  great  reports  of  my  musi- 
cality  and  I  was  at  once  asked  to  show  off.  I  well  remember 
that  Herzogenberg  was  far  more  forthcoming  than  his 
wife  ;  and  though  she  upbraided  me  in  a  friendly,  semi- 
jocular  manner  for  not  having  joined  the  Bach  Verein  and 
urged  me  to  do  so  without  delay,  it  was  he  who,  after  cross- 
questioning  me  about  my  studies,  suggested  I  should  bring 
him  my  exercise  books  to  look  at. 

Of  course  I  turned  up  with  them  next  day,  and  was 
overwhelmed  by  his  raillery  of  Conservatorium  teaching,  as 
he  pointed  out  one  gross  uncorrected  error  after  another. 
Both  were  genuinely  interested  by  my  compositions,  but 
again  I  noticed  she  was  the  more  reserved  of  the  two,  and 
understood  this  reserve  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  music. 
Finally  Herzogenberg  proposed  undertaking  my  tuition 
himself.  '  It  will  be  great  fun/  he  said,  '  for  I  have  never 
given  a  lesson  in  my  life  ;  and  what  is  more/  he  added, 
turning  to  his  wife,  '  thou,  who  hast  so  often  bewailed  thy 
contrapuntal  ignorance,  shalt  also  be  my  pupil  .  .  .  and 
I  shall  meanwhile  learn  how  to  teach/ 

Needless  to  say  I  fell  in  rapturously  with  this  proposal, 
insisted  on  his  accepting  some  nominal  fee,  for  honour's 


201 


202  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED  1878 

sake,  ceased  attending  my  Conservatorium  classes  (osten- 
sibly on  the  score  of  health)  and  it  was  understood  that 
before  leaving  for  the  summer  holidays  I  was  to  give  formal 
notice.  I  at  once  joined  the  Bach  Verein  and  began,  with 
my  lessons,  an  initiation  into  Bach.  Strange  to  say  he  did 
not  reveal  himself  to  me  at  once,  not  even  in  the  '  Passion 
according  to  St.  Matthew'  which  I  heard  on  the  ensuing 
Good  Friday  for  the  first  time.  Yet  is  it  so  strange  after 
all  ?  Between  Bach  and  Beethoven  there  is  at  least  as  wide  a 
gulf  as  between  Giotto  and  Giorgione,  and  at  that  time  my 
musical  intelligence  was  only  cultivated  in  patches.  Before 
six  months  had  elapsed  Bach  occupied  the  place  he  has 
ever  since  held  in  my  heart  as  the  beginning  and  end  of 
all  music  ;  meanwhile  the  Herzogenbergs  were  doing  their 
best  to  speed  up  matters. 

Shortly  after  joining  the  Bach  Verein  an  incident 
occurred  which  opened  my  eyes  to  the  fact  that  Germans 
harboured  feelings  about  the  English  of  which  we  had  no 
suspicion  and  which  certainly  were  not  reciprocated.  My 
enlightener,  a  stately  black-bearded  man  with  extra 
polite  Leipzig  manners  and  rather  a  friend  of  mine  I  had 
imagined,  was  a  certain  Herr  Flinsch — Treasurer  of  the 
Bach  Verein,  one  of  our  leading  basses,  and  also,  although 
I  did  not  know  it,  a  wholesale  stationer.  One  day  I  went 
into  a  smart  looking  shop  and  asked  for  some  English 
writing  paper.  An  article  was  produced  which  did  not 
meet  my  wishes,  and  I  began  describing  exactly  what  was 
wanted,  repeatedly  saying  :  '  it  must  be  English  paper/ 
Suddenly  from  a  back  room  in  the  shop,  my  black-bearded 
friend  darted  out  in  a  violent  passion,  and  without  one 
word  of  greeting  launched  into  a  diatribe  about  the  paper 
trade — informing  me  that  as  a  matter  of  fact  all  the  best 
so-called  English  paper  was  made  in  Germany,  and  merely 
sent  to  England  and  stamped  '  English  '  to  satisfy  (alas  ! ) 
the  snobbishness  of  his  own  countrymen,  who  still  believed 
in  the  supremacy  of  English  wares.  A  day  was  at  hand 
however  when  German  industry  would  no  longer  suffer  these 
humiliations — when  all  the  world  would  know  where  the 
best  of  everything  comes  from,  namely  Germany.  After 


1878  IN  GERMANY  AND  ITALY  203 

which  outburst  the  speaker  bounced  back  into  his  den, 
again  omitting  any  sort  of  greeting,  and  banged  the  door. 
When  next  we  met  at  rehearsal,  and  ever  after,  our  relations 
were  distant  and  dignified. 

During  the  few  weeks  of  opportunity  that  remained  to 
me  for  the  time  being,  I  applied  myself  busily  to  two 
tasks  ;  the  first  orders  of  counterpoint,  and  the  stealthy 
undermining  of  my  fellow  pupil's  delicate  but  unmistakeable 
aloofness.  Meanwhile,  it  might  be  asked,  what  did  Frau 
Dr.  Brockhaus,  hitherto  my  great  friend  and  confidant, 
say  to  these  new  developments  ?  It  had  been  arranged 
ages  ago,  long  before  the  dawning  of  Lisl,  that  I  was  to  go 
to  the  Berg,  their  country  place  near  Dresden,  for  a  few 
days  after  Easter  ;  and  though  the  idea  of  leaving  Leipzig 
was  now  intolerable,  especially  since  the  Herzogenbergs 
were  departing  in  the  second  half  of  April,  I  shrank  from 
hurting  kind  Frau  Doctor's  feelings  by  breaking  my  engage- 
ment. But  I  was  not  a  good  hand  at  keeping  things  to 
myself  and  she  soon  found  out  she  had  a  rival.  Yet  such 
was  Lisl's  reputation  for  charm,  genius,  and  so  forth,  that 
my  older  friend  no  more  blamed  me  than  Calypso  and  Circe 
would  have  blamed  Ulysses  for  falling  in  love  with  Minerva, 
had  the  goddess  seen  fit  to  give  that  complexion  to  their 
alliance.  I  duly  went  to  the  Berg,  but  despite  warm  feelings 
of  gratitude  and  affection  towards  my  hostess,  blessed 
the  grand  final  Bach  Verein  concert  that  brought  me  back 
to  Leipzig  on  duty  after  four  days'  absence. 

Then  suddenly  Fate  did  me  a  good  turn.  Immoderate 
work,  combined  with  too  much  excitement  generally,  was 
telling  on  me.  I  had  among  other  things  become  subject 
to  violent  fits  of  palpitation,  and  there  were  yet  more 
drastic  warnings,  such  as  the  romantic  fainting  on  the  ice, 
that  health  was  giving  way  under  the  strain.  At  last  one 
day,  at  a  birthday  party  at  the  Klengels,  I  collapsed 
altogether.  Lisl  who  was  present,  and  who,  though  I  was 
unaware  of  the  fact,  had  gradually  become  attached  to  me 
in  spite  of  herself,  insisted  on  taking  me  straight  back 
to  my  attic,  and  during  the  rather  severe  illness  that 
followed,  really  a  nervous  break-down,  nursed  me  as 
I  had  never  been  nursed  before,  putting  off  her  departure 


204  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED  1878 

from  Leipzig  a  fortnight  in  order  to  see  me  through  the 
worst. 

And  there,  amid  the  homely  surroundings  of  sloping 
roof  and  ramshackle  furniture,  began  the  tenderest,  surely 
the  very  tenderest  relation  that  can  ever  have  sprung  up 
between  a  woman  and  one  who,  in  spite  of  her  years,  was 
little  better  than  a  child.  I  had  heard,  but  almost  forgotten, 
that  the  one  sorrow  of  her  strangely  happy  life  was  that 
she  was  childless  ;  now  I  came  to  know  that  this  grief, 
though  seldom  alluded  to,  was  abiding  and  passionate— 
(as  a  matter  of  fact  this  was  the  only  spot  of  passion  in  her) . 
Shortly  before  I  met  her  hope  had  finally  been  abandoned, 
and  though  one  or  two  attempts  to  coax  unwilling  nature 
were  made  later  on,  it  was  without  much  hope  as  far  as 
she  was  concerned.  Thus  I  became  heir  to  a  fund  of  pent- 
up  maternal  love. 

Every  day  during  that  happy  fortnight  as  the  clock 
struck  eight  I  heard  her  slowly  climbing  the  stairs,  pausing 
for  breath  methodically  at  every  fourth  step  ;  then  the 
door  curtain  was  pushed  aside  and  the  dear  face,  framed 
in  a  haze  of  golden  hair,  peeped  in  cautiously  lest  I  should 
still  be  asleep.  Asleep  !  .  .  .  when  I  knew  Lisl  was  coming 
.  .  .  !  Except  for  two  hours  at  midday,  when  her  maid  was 
sent  to  mount  guard,  she  stayed  with  me  the  whole  livelong 
day,  washing  me  herself,  performing  all  the  sick-room  offices 
for  me,  cooking  on  her  own  little  cooker  the  most  tempting 
dishes  her  culinary  genius  could  devise,  reading  to  me, 
alternately  petting  and  keeping  me  in  order.  And  as  I  got 
better  she  used  to  play  Bach  and  Brahms,  including  her 
own  wonderful  arrangement  of  the  new  symphony,  knocked 
together  in  a  few  hours  from  the  full  score  lent  her  by  him 
before  she  had  ever  heard  a  note  of  it — the  sort  of  thing 
she  did  with  no  trouble,  and  made  as  light  of  as  she  did 
of  her  heart  complaint.  It  was  settled  that  though  my 
mother  must  never  hear  of  it  I  was  really  her  child,  that, 
as  she  put  it,  she  must  have  '  had  '  me  without  knowing  it 
when  she  was  eleven  ;  all  this  with  a  characteristic  blend 
of  fun  and  tenderness  that  saved  it  from  anything  approach- 
ing morbidity,  of  which  she  had  the  greatest  horror.  At 
that  time  our  conversation  was  carried  on  in  both  languages, 


1878  IN  GERMANY  AND  ITALY  205 

later  always  in  German.  She  was  one  of  the  very  few 
foreigners  I  have  met  to  talk  English  with  whom  was  not 
distressing ;  her  accent  was  admirable,  not  indiscreetly 
so  as  is  sometimes  the  case,  but,  like  her  vocabulary  and 
handling  of  the  language,  easy,  original,  funny,  and  somehow 
or  other  just  right — as  indeed  was  everything  about  her. 

At  the  beginning  of  my  illness  the  doctor  had  feared 
permanent  heart  damage  ;  not  till  this  danger  was  finally 
ruled  out  and  my  convalescence  in  full  swing  did  she  consent 
to  leave  me  and  depart  for  Austria  with  her  husband, 
appointing  Johanna  Rontgen  char  gee  d'affaires.  At  every 
stage  of  the  journey  postcards  were  sent,  and  during  the 
two  weeks  that  elapsed  before  I  was  fit  to  start  for  England 
the  daily  letter  was  the  only  event  that  counted,  though 
mysterious  boxes  of  chocolate,  flowers,  and  books  were 
continually  being  left  at  my  door  '  by  command  of  the 
gracious  lady  von  Herzogenberg.' 

I  missed  her  so  dreadfully  that  most  nights  my  pillow 
was  wet  with  tears — a  babyish  weakness  which,  when  she 
heard  of  it,  touched  but  still  more  distressed  her.  Never 
was  anyone  more  enamoured  of  gaiety  and  serenity  than 
she.  After  her  departure  I  was  allowed  to  see  a  few  friends, 
and  learned  that  in  the  early  stages  of  my  illness,  Anna, 
the  servant,  had  remarked  to  one  very  stiff  Leipzig  grandee 
who  had  asked  what  was  wrong  :  '  Vielleicht  ist  das  Fraulein 
zu  lustig  gewesen  '  (Perhaps  the  Fraulein  has  been  too  gay) 
— the  sort  of  thing  you  would  say  of  a  student  recovering 
after  an  orgy. 

Meanwhile  a  coterie  of  birds  had  settled  in  a  tree  near 
my  window,  and  one  of  them,  which  at  first  I  thought  was 
a  bullfinch,  but  it  was  not,  used  daily  to  waken  me  with 
this  little  theme  (on  which  I  afterwards  worked  many 
contrapuntal  exercises  in  England) : 


For  a  moment  I  had  feared  this  illness  might  furnish  my 
father  with  an  excuse  for  opposing  my  return  to  Leipzig 
later  on,  but  that  dread  was  dispelled  by  a  sentence  in  a 
dear  letter  from  mother.  '  Of  course,  darling/  she  wrote, 


206  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED  1878 

'  you  shall  go  back  ;  I  told  Papa  it  would  kill  you  not  to/ 
This  was  the  sort  of  thing  that  made  me  adore  her  so. 
Eventually  I  started  for  home  about  the  middle  of  June 
in  the  charge  of  a  girl  I  had  made  friends  with,  Nancy 
Crawfurd  by  name  (now  Mrs.  Gould  Ross),  whom  Lisl  once 
referred  to  as  '  that  nice  girl  with  the  kind  nose/  and  who 
actually  put  off  her  own  journey  home  till  I  was  fit  to 
travel,  having  promised  my  new  mother  to  deliver  me 
safely  into  the  hands  of  the  real  one. 


And  now,  at  the  outset  of  a  relation  which  governed 
my  life  both  humanly  and  musically  for  so  many  years, 
I  should  like  to  say  in  what  medium  this  part  of  my  memoirs 
is  steeped — say  it  once  for  all,  not  to  touch  on  the  subject 
again  till  a  certain  date  seven  years  later  has  been  reached. 

I  have  said  we  were  to  be  violently  separated  by  Fate  ; 
when  that  separation  became  final  I  put  away  all  the  letters 
from  her  I  possessed  and  never  thought  my  eyes  would 
rest  on  them  again.  In  1892,  a  few  months  after  her  sudden 
death,  a  parcel  arrived  through  a  mutual  friend,  inscribed 
on  the  inner  covering  in  her  husband's  well-known  hand  : 
'  Ethel's  letters  to  Lisl/  This  parcel  I  never  even  opened, 
but  laid  it,  as  in  a  vault,  beside  the  other  in  an  old  tin 
despatch-box  of  my  father's,  on  which  are  painted  his 
styles  and  titles  as  lieutenant  in  the  East  India  Company's 
service — a  box  nearly  ninety  years  old  ! 

When,  a  few  weeks  ago,  it  occurred  to  me  by  way  of  a 
pastime  to  write  these  memoirs,  I  meant  to  stop  at  the 
moment  of  my  flight  to  Germany — chiefly  because  I  shrank 
from  opening  that  vault.  The  resolution  taken,  for  many 
days  I  was  in  a  dream,  staring  at  the  tragedy  with  the 
dazed,  uncomprehending  eyes  of  thirty-three  years  ago, 
astounded  at  the  richness  and  beauty  of  that  long  tender 
friendship — wondering,  with  the  old,  dull  bewilderment, 
how  such  things  can  come  to  an  end.  Only  by  degrees 
did  it  seem  possible  to  fix  my  eyes  on  the  happiest  years 
of  my  early  life  and  let  them  tell  their  story  as  they  were 
lived — without  a  thought  of  what  was  to  follow. 


ELISABETH  VON  HERZOGENBERG  ("LiSL") 
in  Fancy  Dress,   1877. 


APPENDIX  II 

(PP.  2O7  TO  249) 

PAGE 

(a)  LETTERS  FROM  MYSELF  TO  MY    MOTHER    AND 

OTHER  MEMBERS  OF  THE  FAMILY,  1877-1878  .     207 

(b)  LETTERS  FROM  ELISABETH  VON  HERZOGENBERG 

•('  LISL  '),  MAY  27  TO  JUNE  9, 1878        .        .     244 


w 

FROM   MYSELF   TO   MY   MOTHER   AND   OTHER    MEMBERS 
OF  THE  FAMILY,  1877-1878. 

[Note.  —  /  found  the  following  letters  among  my  Mother's 
papers,  and  such  is  the  enthusiasm  they  radiate  that  I  hope 
I  may  be  pardoned  for  printing  them  with  all  their  youthful 
redundancies  on  their  head  —  (a  temptation  to  tone  down  the 
slanginess  of  the  style  having  been  resisted  with  some  difficulty). 
It  must  be  remembered  that  those  at  home  were  waiting  to  hear 
whether  my  claim  to  having  a  vocation  was  illusory  or  not, 
so  no  wonder  I  nearly  went  off  my  head  with  joy  at  the 
encouragement  I  met  with,  and  eagerly  reported  it. 

I  lit  on  these  letters  some  time  after  the  corresponding  part 
of  the  main  text  had  been  written,  consequently  a  few  incidents 
are  described  twice  over  —  the  only  time  this  will  happen  in 
these  pages.  But  I  think  it  may  amuse  other  memoir-writers 
beside  myself  to  compare  the  two  versions  —  separated  by  an 
interval  of  forty  years  /] 


Rotterdam  :   July  27,  1877. 

My  own  darling  Mother,  —  Here  we  are,  safe  and  sound, 
after  a  most  successful  journey,  with  all  our  luggage  so  far 

207 


208  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED 

intact  and  our  persons  washed  and  in  order.  .  .  .  Well, 
once  at  Harwich  we  were  the  first  people  out  of  the  train 
and  the  first  on  board  the  steamer,  thus  getting  the  pick 
of  the  berths.  We  sat  up  on  deck  until  one  o'clock  and 
anything  more  beautiful  than  the  night  you  cannot  imagine, 
a  very  calm  sea  and  brilliant  moonlight.  As  we  left  the 
breakwater  behind  we  passed  close  to  a  bell  buoy  which 
tolled  in  the  most  eerie  and  dismal  manner  imaginable. 
I  slept  like  a  top  till  the  stewardess  called  me  just  as  we 
were  entering  the  river.  We  were  on  it  about  an  hour  and 
a  half,  passing  through  quite  the  ugliest  country  I  ever  set 
eyes  on,  as  flat  as  a  board  and  nothing  but  bulrushes  and 
poplar  avenues  leading  apparently  nowhere  and  planted 
apparently  apropos  of  nothing  in  particular.  The  little 
villages  are  like  toy  villages  and  look  as  if  painted  afresh 
every  morning,  and  the  windmills  are  absolutely  bewildering 
and  all  the  colours  of  the  rainbow. 

My  billy-cock  seemed  to  create  great  excitement  and 
interest  among  the  Dutch  sailors,  as  indeed  among  some 
dirty  boys  in  St.  James's  Park,  one  of  whom  informed  me 
that  I  had  got  his  father's  hat  on.  At  present  I  am  writing 
in  the  coffee-room,  and  the  dialect  sounds  like  German 
baby-language.  There  are  plenty  of  asphalt  patches  about 
the  town,  and  Harry  and  I  are  thinking  of  extemporising 
a  net  with  a  table  cloth,  marking  out  a  court,  and 
commencing  a  game  of  lawn-tennis.  .  .  .  We  go  on  straight 
to-night,  stopping  nowhere,  and  arriving  at  Leipzig  about 
eight  to-morrow  morning.  We  then  repair  to  a  hotel, 
wash,  dress,  etc.,  and  go  on  to  the  Friedlanders.  I  shall 
in  all  probability  write  from  there  again  to-morrow.  I 
cannot  realise  that  I  am  off  one  bit,  and  I  did  not  dare 
talk  about  it  yesterday  for  fear  of  realising  it  too  much. 

Good-bye,  my  darling  Mother.  My  dear  love  to  all, 
and  I  do  hope  Nina  and  Violet  are  playing  lawn-tennis 
a  good  deal  .  .  .  and  sitting  up  I 

Your  most  loving  child. 


Leipzig  1  1    July  28,  1877. 
Something  Hotel  (Didn't  catch  the  name). 

...  All  ideas  are  flown  and  I  am  mentally  wallowing 
in  one  thought  and  one  only,  i.e.,  here  I  am,  and  I  have 
only  just  begun  to  realise  that  fact.  You  know  we  came 


IN  GERMANY  AND  ITALY  209 

straight  through,  and  both  slept  like  tops.  The  carriage 
was  too  full  to  admit  of  lying  down,  and  yet  I  did  not  even 
feel  stiff,  nor  I  believe  does  Harry,  who  will  probably  speak 
for  himself  ere  I  close  this.  .  .  .  Harry  and  I  on  our  arrival 
made  elaborate  toilettes  and  sat  down  with  zest  to  Kaffee 
and  Broedchen,  though  we  had  gone  through  the  same 
performance  at  half-past  five  this  morning  at  Magdeburg, 
and  I  have  just  come  in  from  a  prowl  about  town.  Of 
course  I  at  once  repaired  to  the  Conservatorium  and 
gazed  at  that  most  gloomy  edifice  with  feelings  easier  to 
imagine  than  to  describe,  though  somewhat  modified  by 
the  fact  that  we  were  not  quite  sure  which  of  seven  or 
eight  gloomy  edifices  in  the  block  was  actually  the  Con- 
servatorium, as  the  latter  adjoins  the  University  and 
is  much  the  same  style  of  building.  There  were  a  good 
many  students  strolling  about,  with  very  festive  caps  and 
less  festive,  not  to  say  stodgy,  casts  of  countenance.  Most 
of  them  wear  spectacles,  all  wear  trousers  that  bag  at 
the  knee,  and  not  a  few  are  decorated  with  intersecting 
cuts  on  their  faces — these  latter  swagger  a  good  deal. 
We  then  repaired  to  the  public  gardens  where  I  saw  what 
my  eyes  had  often  pictured — the  masses  of  chairs,  and  in 
the  midst  the  raised  orchestra  with  desks  all  round.  I  see 
'  Egmont '  is  to  be  played  to-night  at  the  theatre  ;  I  wonder 
if  we  shall  go.  Harry  thinks  it  is  time  to  go  to  Place  de 
Repos,  so  I  close  this  for  the  present.  .  .  . 


(3) 
To  ALICE  DAVIDSON 

Place  de  Repos,  Treppe  G.,  Leipzig  :  July  30,  1877. 

.  .  .  The  sort  of  life  I  at  present  lead  is  this :  I  get 
called  at  half-past  six  or  seven,  get  up  leisurely  and  ask 
for  my  breakfast,  which  goes  by  the  name  of  'Kaffee/ 
Each  person  has  their  own  little  tray,  coffee-pot,  plate  of 
rolls,  pat  of  butter,  etc.  You  can  have  an  egg  if  you  like, 
but  I  don't.  You  have  this  meal  in  your  own  room,  or 
else  in  the  sitting-room  quite  promiscuously  and  independent 
of  anyone  else.  There  are  beautiful  public  baths  close  by, 
and  after  your  coffee  you  repair  to  the  baths.  I  mean  to 
learn  to  swim  by-and-bye.  I  then  write  and  read  and 

VOL.  I.  P 


210  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED 

practise  ;  dinner  is  at  one,  and  consists  of  hot  meat,  always 
plainly  and  well  cooked,  generally  meat  cutlets  or  slices 
off  the  joint.  Seldom  the  joint.  Or  else  you  have  little 
wee  chickens  cut  up  into  four  bits  and  roasted  in  dripping 
(not  gravy).  The  salads  are  truly  wonderful,  all  sorts  of 
vegetables  cooked  up  cold  in  grease  and  vinegar,  with 
little  dabs  of  forced  meat  and  bread  dumplings  scattered 
about  it.  Then  one  has  cucumber,  and  yellow  beans  as 
hard  as  nails  and  very  sour.  Then  comes  the  inevitable 
'  Mehlspeise/  a  sort  of  sodden  but  well-mixed  pie-crust 
stuffed  with  some  plums  or  sweet  cherries  in  between — 
the  sort  of  thing  Papa  would  like  the  children  and  himself 
to  live  on.  Then  rolls  (my  pet  '  Franzbrodchen '  and 
others)  and  butter  appear,  and  sometimes  fresh  fruit. 
After  dinner  the  Frau  Professor  goes  to  sleep,  I  fancy,  and 
about  3.30  or  4  we  go  in  the  garden  and  drink  milk  fresh 
from  the  cow  and  coffee  and  rolls,  playing  cards  or  reading. 
Whist  is  a  favourite  game,  and  Frau  Professor,  Thekla,1 
Mr.  B.,  and  I  are  to  play  in  an  hour  or  so.  There  is  a 
forest  about  five  minutes  from  here  which  is  ten  miles 
through,  and  therein  is  a  little  '  Restoration/  as  they  call 
them,  where  a  glorious  orchestra  plays  Mondays  and 
Fridays. 

You  would  be  astonished  at  the  cheapness  of  every- 
thing here.  Theatre  tickets  are  is.  6d.,  and  this  morning 
I  bought  all  that  the  soul  of  woman  can  desire  in  the  shape 
of  writing-paper,  envelopes,  steel  pens,  black  and  white 
cottons,  ink,  boot-laces,  etc.  for  about  is.  3  Jd.  Little  things 
are  less  than  one-third  of  the  English  prices  and  of  course 
one  is  able  to  go  continually  to  the  Opera ;  yesterday 
we  went  to  hear  '  Lohengrin '  and  this  evening  are 
going  to  hear  '  Aida ' !  Harry  comes  back  to-morrow 
and  leaves  for  Scotland  on  Thursday  I  think ;  as  you 
know  he's  in  Dresden  at  present  ...  he  was  so  dear 
travelling.  ,  .  . 

Perhaps  Mother  would  like  to  see  this  letter  so  do  send 
it  to  Frimhurst  and  write  soon,  darling.  On  second  thoughts 
send  it  first  to  dear  old  Mary  to  whom  I  shan't  write  till 
I  have  something  to  tell.  .  .  . 

1  Fr§,ulein  Friedlander 


IN  GERMANY  AND  ITALY  211 


(4) 

Friedrichsroda,  Thuringen  :  August  y. 

My  darling  Mother, — As  I  mean  Sunday  to  be  my  day 
for  writing  home,  I  herewith  inaugurate  that  festival,  sitting 
at  Q^o'clock  in  a  little  arbour  in  a  little  garden  in  a  little 
town  in  a  little  mountainous  province  called  Thuringen. 
We  came  here  yesterday  quite  en  masse,  Frau  Friedlander, 
Thekla,  Marie,  and  the  two  Scotch  girls  who  live  with  the 
Friedlanders,  called  Binning.  Gustchen  (Fraulein  Redeker) 
comes  on  Wednesday.  We  were  met  at  the  station  by  the 
great  baritone  of  whom  you  have  heard  me  speak,  and  of 
whom  Jenny  Lind  says  he  is  the  finest  artist  she  has  ever 
heard  since  Stockhausen — Herr  Henschel.  As  he  always 
sang  in  London  with  my  two,  they  are  all  great  friends, 
and  we  shall  simply  have  the  loveliest  music  to  be  had 
anywhere  all  the  two  or  three  weeks  we  are  here,  for  Herr 
Henschel  was  brought  up  to  be  a  pianist  and  plays 
splendidly.  He  is  a  regular  genius,  and  his  compositions 
are  lovely.  I  hear  he  draws  most  beautifully,  but  shall 
soon  see  for  myself,  as  at  10  o'clock  we  are  going  up  there 
(he  is  staying  with  a  Herr  von  Milde  half-way  up  the 
mountains)  to  do  music.  It  is  too  delicious  !  The  manners 
and  customs  are  too  funny.  We  live  in  a  little  villa,  the 
whole  of  which  would  go  into  the  hall  at  home,  and  in  the 
cellar  live  four  cows.  On  Sundays  they  are  let  out  into 
the  fields.  You  hear  ever  so  far  off  a  horn,  very  fairly 
played,  and  presently  a  man  appears,  playing  it  all  about 
the  town,  at  which  signal  all  the  cows  tramp  forth  with  a 
most  bewildered  air  and  are  driven  away. 

German  beds,  till  you  get  accustomed  to  them,  are 
not  very  comfortable.  To  begin  with,  they  are  of  wood 
and  about  the  size  of  an  ordinary  crib.  The  mattress  is 
fixed  in,  and  over  that  a  sheet,  exactly  the  breadth  of 
the  bed  and  a  little  longer,  is  laid ;  on  the  top  of  you  is 
a  sort  of  pancake  consisting  of  two  sheets  sewn  together 
with  bits  of  flannel  between,  the  same  size  as  the  under- 
sheet,  so  that  even  were  the  mattress  not  glued  to  the 
bed,  tucking  up  is  an  impossibility.  If  you  are  not  a 
quiet  sleeper,  which  I  now  am,  all  the  things  are  naturally 
kicked  on  to  the  floor  in  no  time.  In  the  winter  you  have 
a  feather-bed  on  top  of  you,  which  you  wrap  round  you  d 


212  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  JREMAINED 

la  martial  cloak.  And,  oh,  the  butter  and  cream  and  Franz- 
brodchen  and  fruit  and  pure  cold  air !  I  shall  have  to 
wear  a  jersey  here,  so  cold  is  it,  and  my  appetite  is  perfectly 
alarming.  We  went  on  Thursday  last  to  Halle  where 
Thekla  and  Gustchen  had  to  sing  in  one  of  the  many  Church 
concerts  given  here.  I  did  not  care  about  the  two  first 
things  much,  Mendelssohn's  '  Lauda  Sion '  and  a  Cantata 
of  Bach's.  But  the  last  thing,  Mendelssohn's  '  Forty-second 
Psalm/  in  which  the  two  had  a  long  duet,  was  quite  lovely. 

That  reminds  me  not  to  forget  to  tell  you  that  before 
we  left  Leipzig  I  went  to  hear  Verdi's  new  Opera  '  Aida ' 
(in  which  Patti  plays  in  London).  You  know  the  scene 
is  laid  in  Egypt,  and  one  of  the  kings  comes  in  with  his 
victorious  army,  carrying  trophies,  i.e.  dogs,  cats,  storks, 
frogs,  and  heaven  knows  what  else,  on  the  ends  of  long 
sticks.  On  anything  being  said  of  which  the  army  approves, 
all  the  sticks  are  waved  frantically  in  the  air  and  the  beasts 
get  mixed  up.  How  I  laughed !  Why  will  they  be  so 
realistic  ? 

Yesterday  we  stopped  at  Weimar  and  went  to  see 
Schiller's  and  Goethe's  houses,  and  then  their  coffins.  It 
was  awfully  interesting.  Everyone  is  so  fond  of  '  Rothraut.' 
I  am  going  to  print  it  and  the  five  others,  and  sell  them  if 
I  can.  .  .  . 

Thank  you,  my  darling  mother,  over  and  over  again 
for  your  dear,  newsy  letter.  I  am  more  than  happy.  Harry 
will  have  told  you  how  completely  and  utterly  at  home  I 
am  here,  and  I  think  we  are  all  really  fond  of  each  other. 
The  German  life  suits  me  so  wonderfully,  everything,  eating, 
drinking,  manners,  etc.  Frau  Professor  says  I  am  as  if  I 
had  been  here  six  months  at  least,  and  I  feel  as  if  I  had  been 
here  for  years.  In  this  musical  country,  strange  to  say, 
my  music  goes  farther  than  in  unmusical  England,  and  my 
accompanying  and  singing  at  sight  are  made  much  use  of. 
Darling  mother,  indeed  I  will  tell  you  everything,  whether 
I  am  ill  or  well,  happy,  or,  what  is  impossible,  unhappy. 
I  can't  help  feeling  glad  to  think  I  am  missed.  .  .  . 

B.  is  really  a  nice  boy.  You  can't  think  how  good- 
natured  he  is  to  me,  and  if  I  allowed  it  would  give  me  the 
very  coat  oft  his  back.  Old  Frau  F.  I  like  the  least  of  the 
party ;  she  strikes  me  as  an  awful  old  humbug,  always 
'  Mein  liebstes  theuerstes  Fraeulein '  and  such  grimaces 
and  posing.  I  don't  think  the  Binnings  love  her.  They 
say  she  is  very  kind  and  so  on,  but  very  slithery.  To  old 


IN  GERMANY  AND  ITALY  213 

Frau  Professor  I  am  quite  devoted,  such  a  plain-sailing, 
simple,  straightforward  old  thing. 

.  .  .  These  German  pens  drive  me  wild.  Could  you  in 
your  next  letter  send  me  a  couple  of  '  J  '  pens,  and  in  the 
next  two  more,  and  so  on,  as  I  can  get  no  decent  nibs  in 
Germany.  Dearest  love  to  the  children  and  best  thanks 
for  their  dear  letters.  I  am  so  glad  Miss  Periwig  makes 
them  sit  up,  and  hope  their  lawn-tennis  will  prosper  when 
the  heat  is  less  intense.  .  .  I 

(5)          <•    •    S 

Friedrichsroda :   August  12,  1877. 

.  .  .  Henschel  is  only  27,  but  he  is  gradually  making 
a  name  for  himself,  and  musicians  take  on  an  average 
40  years  to  do  this.  One  day  when  I  was  out  of  the  room 
Thekla  told  him  I  composed,  and  on  my  return  he  asked 
me  (as  he  afterwards  confessed  as  a  matter  of  politeness 
and  with  no  expectations)  to  see  something  I  had  done. 
I  produced  a  song — we  have  no  piano,  but  of  course  he 
reads  it  through  like  a  book.  Mother  !  he  said  such  things 
of  my  talent !  Things  I  never  even  dreamed  of.  He  said 
it  was  simply  wonderful,  and  could  not  believe  I  had  had 
no  tuition.  Of  course  he  found  faults,  and  afterwards 
told  a  friend  of  his  whom  I  know  that  they  were  faults 
arising  from  talent.  In  the  afternoon  we  went  to  the  von 
Mildes.  He  is  the  first  man  in  the  Berlin  Opera,  old  now, 
but  a  great  musician  with  a  voice  like  a  god,  and  his  wife 
is  also  very  musical.  Of  course  Henschel  was  there  and 
several  other  musicians,  and  I  was  asked  to  sing  some  things 
of  mine.  Mother  !  I  wish  you  had  been  there.  They 
were  astonished,  they  all  came  round  and  said  it  was 
'  merkwuerdig,  wundervoll/  and  all  the  afternoon,  when 
Henschel  was  strumming,  as  he  only  can  strum,  between 
the  songs,  he  kept  on  coming  back  to  the  modulation  at 
'  Schweig'  still,  mein  Herz '  in  '  Rothraut '  which  pleased 
him  hugely.  Afterwards,  when  we  were  all  supping,  our 
host  proposed  the  health  of  the  artists  and  coupled  with 
it  the  name  of  '  one  who  has  but  lately  come  among  us  and 
whom  we  hope  to  keep/  and  once  again  I  was  feted,  and  oh 
I  wish  you  had  been  there  !  The  bliss  of  knowing  that 
when  I  went  on  so  about  cultivating  my  talent  I  was  not 
wrong  !  For  though  I  felt  it  myself,  I  sometimes  doubted 
whether  it  was  only  for  a  woman,  and  an  Englishwoman 


214  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED 

living  in  a  not  musical  circle,  that  I  was  anything  particular 
in  music — whether  such  talent  as  I  have  deserved  to  have 
everything  else  put  aside  for  it.  And  now  I  know  it  does 
deserve  it !  The  greatest  musical  genius  I  know  has  seen 
my  work  and  so  to  speak  has  given  it  his  blessing,  and  it 
is  well  with  me  .  .  . ! 

Don't  think,  mother  darling,  that  this  makes  me  lose 
my  head,  that  I  fancy  I  have  only  to  put  pen  to  paper 
and  become  famous.  It  is  just  this  :  men  who  have  lived 
among  musicians  all  their  lives,  who  have  been  hand  in 
glove  with  Schumann  and  Mendelssohn,  and  are  so  with 
Brahms  and  Rubenstein,  say  they  seldom  saw  such  talent, 
in  a  woman  never,  and  I  can  but  tell  you  all  this.  I  know 
though  that  years  and  years,  perhaps,  of  hard  work  are 
before  me,  years  in  which  little  or  nothing  I  do  shall  be 
printed — this  I  have  resolved  on — and  in  which  I  shall  be 
nobody,  and  at  the  end  of  which  is  perhaps  a  laurel  crown 
awaiting  me  in  the  shape  of  a  name  !  But  the  end  is  worth 
the  uphill  struggle,  and  if  application  and  hard  steady  work 
can  do  anything  I  ought  to  get  it. 

I  go  up  every  day  into  the  mountain  and  compose. 
Then  to  the  vonMildes  I  go  a  good  deal,  and  am  very  welcome 
I  think — so  it  seems  !  Then  we  go  up  to  the  meadows  and 
play  croquet,  and  then  up  to  where  Henschel  lives  and 
sing,  sing,  sing  !  Oh,  those  three  !  Thekla  is  not  in  good 
voice,  but  Meine  Koenigin,  alias  Fraeulein  Redeker,  is  in 
first-rate  voice,  and  the  music  we  have  simply  defies 
description.  She  is  at  this  moment  wandering  about  in 
a  pink  dressing-gown  singing  Scenas  out  of  an  opera  of 
Rubinstein's,  and  it  is  rather  distracting. 

*-  to 


Do  you  know  she  sings  from  ¥$  J 1 

i 

It  is  a  glorious  voice  and  won't  be  kept  in.  She  is 
literally  bubbling  over  with  singing.  Yesterday  all  four 
of  them  sang  for  a  charity  in  the  church,  but  I  never  do 
care  for  sacred  music  except,  oh  !  I  must  except,  the  bass 
duet,  '  The  Lord  is  a  Man  of  War/  which  is  certainly  a 
grand  thing.  Henschel  sang  it  with  Santley  at  the  Handel 
Festival.  .  .  . 

Please  send  on  my  accounts  to  Papa  !  My  German 
gets  on  Ai,  I  always  speak  it,  even  to  the  Scotch  girls.  .  .  . 


IN  GERMANY  AND  ITALY  215 

(6) 

Friedrichsroda  :  August  19,  1877,' 

.  .  .  Fancy,  staying  in  the  house  with  Henschel  is 
your  old  Wildbad  friend,  Herr  von  Roumanim ;  he  raves 
about  Mary  !  He  is  a  pleasant  man  and  bade  me  remember 
him  most  kindly  and  respectfully  to  my  Frau  Mutter  and 
Fraeulein  Schwester  !  Also  I  was  to  tell  you  that  now  he 
wears  his  hair  long,  not  like  a  tooth-brush,  as  when  you 
knew  him. 

I  have  had  several  talks  with  Henschel  about  my  music 
and  am  most  awfully  happy  about  it.  He  thinks  more 
of  my  talent  than  ever  I  did  !  and  has  written  about  me 
to  Brahms  with  whom  he  was  almost  brought  up,  and  to 
Simrock,  the  publisher.  It  is  so  glorious  to  be  told  by 
competent  persons  that  one's  future  lies  in  one's  own  hands, 
that  the  material  for  realising  hopes  I  hardly  ever — I 
think  never — breathed  at  home  even,  is  there  ;  and  I  have 
but  to  work  hard  and  steadily  and  then  not  be  too  soon 
pleased  with  myself.  Every  day  I  become  more  and  more 
convinced  of  the  truth  of  my  old  axiom,  that  why  no  women 
have  become  composers  is  because  they  have  married,  and 
then,  very  properly,  made  their  husbands  and  children  the 
first  consideration.  So  even  if  I  were  to  fall  desperately 
in  love  with  BRAHMS  and  he  were  to  propose  to  me,  I 
should  say  no  !  So  fear  not  that  I  shall  marry  in  Germany  ! 
I  told  Henschel  my  opinion,  and  he  said  perhaps  I  was 
right,  but  as  he  himself  has,  I  am  told,  an  '  unglueckliche 
Liebe ' 1  on  hand,  I  don't  think  he  is  a  judge  !  He  is  so 
good  to  me,  corrects  my  songs  for  me  (I  have  composed 
lots  more),  sets  me  basses  on  which  to  construct  chorales 
and  all  sorts  of  things  ;  and  yet  I  know  if  I  were  Henschel 
it  would  be  a  great  pleasure  to  me  to  get  hold  of  a  new 
pupil  to  give  a  friendly  shove-on  to  during  a  three  weeks' 
do-nothing  stay  in  a  little  primitive  town.  ...  I  am,  as 
always,  very,  very  happy  and  oh  so  well.  .  .  . 

(7) 

Leipzig  ;  August  22,  1877. 

.  .  .  Your  dear  letters  are  so  very  welcome ;  I  think 
of  you  I  don't  know  how  many  times  in  the  day,  and  like 

1  Unfortunate  attachment. 


216  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED 

to  think  that  if  your  third  daughter  is  giving  you  a  great 
deal  of  trouble,  the  time  may  come  when  you  will  be  proud 
of  her.  Do  you  remember  I  told  you  I  should  be  just  as 
all  the  rest  in  the  Conservatorium,  that  we  were  treated 
like  prisoners,  known  only  by  our  numbers  so  to  speak  ? 
Well,  it  is  so,  but  here  am  I,  not  yet  entered  and  yet  known 
to  the  first  masters  !  Is  not  that  something  to  be  pleased 
at !  ...  I  heard  '  Euryanthe '  the  other  day  and  was 
much  bored.  I  do  not  rave  over  Weber,  but  have  not  yet 
heard  '  Freischuetz.'  ...  I  do  hope  Papa  will  send  me 
some  money  soon.  I  know  you  will  be  pleased  to  hear  that 
for  want  of  time  I  must  give  up  violin  and  devote  myself 
to  piano.  .  .  . 

Mother  darling,  as  I  always  wanted  to  learn  to  swim, 
and  as  when  once  you  do  swim,  swimming  baths  are  much 
cheaper  than  others,  I  have  begun  learning  it.  The  whole 
course  of  teaching  costs  95.  however  long  it  lasts,  and  then 
35.  tip  to  the  teacher.  You  can  then  bathe  every  day 
for  35.  gd.  a  quarter,  whereas  in  the  other  baths  bathing 
twice  a  week  costs  nearly  £i  a  quarter.  So  in  the  end  it 
is  cheaper.  If,  however,  you  think  this  unnecessary  I  have 
still  enough  of  the  £5  papa  gave  me  on  my  departure  to 
pay  for  it,  so  please,  mother  darling,  tell  me  what  you 
think. 

There  seems  every  prospect  of  Mr.  Ewing  coming  here 
for  a  few  days  in  November  or  December ;  I  wish  she 
could  come  too.  .  .  .  Maas  has  set  me  a  sonata  to  write  !  !  ! 
I  have  done  the  first  three  movements,  and  very  ugly  two 
are. 


(8) 

September  9,  1877. 

.  .  .  The  swimming  is  going  on  famously.  On  the 
third  day  I  was  in  a  great  fright  as  a  certain  Frau  Doktor 
who  began  with  me  could  do  it  better  than  I,  and  as  you 
know,  owing  to  my  muscularity,  I  generally  do  athletic 
sports  better  than  most  women.  However,  on  the  fourth 
day  I  balanced  myself  on  the  end  of  a  sofa  while  Frau 
Professor,  who  is  not  small,  sat  at  the  other  end,  and 
flourished  arms  and  legs  to  such  advantage  that  the  next 
day  I  swam,  with  a  cord,  all  round  the  bath  several  times, 
and  the  Frau  Doktor  was  plunging  about  like  a  porpoise, 


IN  GERMANY  AND  ITALY  217 

swallowing  pails  of  water,  and  leaving  nothing  to  be  seen 
above  water  but  an  agitated  pair  of  heels  going  like  a 
semaphore.  Now  I  have  beaten  her  all  to  smash,  and 
small  credit  to  me,  as  she  is  about  150,  I  should  think,  and 
goes  about  on  dry  land  in  a  muslin  cap  with  sort  of  butter- 
fly bows  in  yellowish-red.  I  discovered  to  my  intense 
astonishment  that  she  lives  in  this  very  house,  is  in  fact 
Herr  Maas's  landlady.  One  day  when  I  went  for  my 
lesson  I  heard  her  scuttling  down  the  passage  and  the 
banging  of  a  door  half-way  up  the  same,  so  being  versed 
in  the  ways  of  the  Fatherland  I  stood  still  and  waited,  and 
sure  enough  out  comes  the  head,  yellow  bows  and  all,  is 
half  withdrawn,  and  then  I  am  recognised,  and  out  dashes 
the  Frau  Doktor  in  Schlafrock  and  curl-papers,  and  you 
can  imagine  what  an  affecting  meeting  we  had.  .  .  . 

I  send  you  a  photograph  of  myself  that  I  had  done  for 
fun  with  my  hair  down  ;  the  rude  Henschel  said  :  '  Sehr 
huebsch  als  Bild,  auch  als  Photographic,  aber  Sie  muessen 
mir  zugeben  dass  Sie  nicht  so  huebsch  sind  ! ' 1  I  told  him 
he  had  never  seen  me  with  my  hair  down  and  that  that 
made  all  the  difference  !  ! 

There  are  two  or  three  things  in  Germans  that  I  should 
like  to  alter ;  as  regards  men,  that  they  smoke  the  vilest 
cigarettes  and  spit  so  recklessly.  As  regards  the  women, 
they  have  got  it  into  their  heads  that  the  fashionable  and 
chic  thing  to  do  is  to  scratch  all  their  hair  up  on  the  '  bend 
of  the  head '  I  used  to  talk  so  much  about,  and  then  plant 
a  very  fly-away  hat  at  the  extreme  back  of  the  erection. 
You  would  scream  at  the  fashions  and  the  attempts  at 
something  very  killing,  particularly  in  the  theatre.  As 
regards  both  sexes,  I  wish  one  could  impress  upon  them 
that  it  is  possible  to  walk  in  the  town  without  banging 
against  every  soul  you  meet.  I  can't  describe  to  you  how 
unmannerly  everyone  is,  bar  the  students,  in  this  respect. 
At  first  I  made  way  for  people  and  fancied  that  everyone 
I  met  was  in  a  great  hurry  and  must  be  excused.  But 
finding  that  my  whole  walk  became  a  perpetual  hopping  on 
and  off  the  pavement,  like  a  canary  between  two  perches, 
I  resolved  to  do  in  Rome  as  the  Romans  do ;  since  then, 
thanks  to  the  muscular  development  of  which  I  am  so 
proud  and  to  which  I  now  give  full  play,  I  have  most 
exhilarating  walks.  .  .  ./< 

1  Very  pretty  as  picture,  but  you  must  admit  you  are  not  as  pretty 
as  that! 


218  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED 

How  splendidly  the  Russians  are  doing,  but  the  Turks, 
too,  are  doing  wonders.  Perhaps  this  war  will  raise  the 
tone  in  Turkey  supposing  Turkey  wins,  but  then  it  is  the 
tone  of  the  upper  classes  in  Turkey  that  wants  raising,  and 
war  won't  affect  them  so  much  as  the  people.  .  .  .  Poor 
France !  But  how  like  the  French  to  quarrel  over  Thiers' 
body  and  come  to  blows  over  the  funeral !  ...  I  am  going 
to-day  to  hear  '  Tannhaeuser  ' ;  it  will  be  most  interesting 
after  seeing  the  Wartburg  with  my  own  eyes.  On  Tuesday 
and  Thursday  GREAT  TREATS  are  in  store  for  me,  for  I  am  to 
hear  '  Don  Giovanni '  (in  German  )  and  '  II  Flauto  Magico  ' 
for  the  first  time!  The  other  day  I  saw  the  great  Marie 
Geistinger  in  Schiller's  'Maria  Stuart/  The  Geistinger 
was  such  a  Maria  as  one  dreams  of.  She  is  very,  very 
beautiful,  and,  oh,  how  she  acts  !  I  always  wept  when  I 
read  that  play ;  even  the  stony,  tearless  Mary  wept  at  Miss 

D 's,   I  remember,   when  we  read  it !     So  you  may 

imagine  how  I  howled  in  the  theatre  !  Geistinger's  voice 
is  so  wonderful — deep  and  thrilling — and  she  has  more 
jewels  they  say  than  Patti.  In  one  piece  she  plays  in  next 
week  she  wears  them  all  nearly.  She  is  equally  good  in 
comedy,  but  then  there  are  many  first-rate  comedy  players, 
and  I  don't  think  many  can  play  tragedy  like  the  Geistinger. 
She  is  a  Baroness  by  birth  and  by  marriage,  and  became 
an  actress — a  veal  actress,  not  a  Lady  Sebright — from  sheer 
love  of  it,  and  her  husband  stands  in  the  wings !  I  am 
sure  to  meet  her  at  the  Brockhauses.  They  are  great 
people  here,  have  a  splendid  house,  and  hold  court  of  all 
the  talent  of  the  stage  and  studio  in  the  town.  Thanks, 
thanks,  thanks  for  the  '  J  '  pens.  .  .  . 


(9) 

Place  de  Repos,  Treppe  G.  Ill}  Leipzig  :   September  16,  1877. 

.  .  .  Haven't  the  French  a  delicious  expression  about 
people  wearing  '  ribbons/  for  instance,  '  that  swear '  ? 
I  often  think  of  that  when  I  see  a  Teuton  arrayed  in  her 
Sunday  best,  strolling — no,  German  ladies  can't  stroll — 
either  jigging  or  stalking  down  the  Promenade.  I  am  going 
to-night  to  see  Marie  Geistinger  in  '  Adrienne  Lecouvreur/ 
translated  into  German  of  course.  I  daresay  you  know 
the  piece.  Adrienne  was  one  of  Rachel's  great  parts — and 


IN  GERMANY  AND  ITALY  219 

from  what  I've  read  of  Rachel  I  should  think  the  Geistinger 
could  do  all  Rachel's  roles.  I  nearly  had  a  fit  to-day  on 
hearing  she  is  nearly  50  !  !  !  !  She  has  the  movements, 
figure,  and  voice  of  a  girl !  Of  her  face  one  can  of  course 
not  judge ;  and  this  wonderful  creature  is  here  for  four 
years  !  It  is  very  delightful.  .  .  . 

I  am  a  little  behindhand  with  my  work  this  week  and 
must  make  up  before  Wednesday.  I  am  so  glad  Violet 
can  do  back-handed  half-volleys.  She  should  practise 
against  the  house,  and  tell  her  that  I  don't  mean  that  she 
and  Nina  shall  beat  me  when  I  come !  Darling  Mother — 
the  picture  that  always  hangs  on  the  wall  of  my  memory 
is  summer,  and  home  again  !  I  must  be  very  careful  of 
£  s.  d. — and  if  at  the  last  minute  it  should  be  found 
better  for  me  not  to  come  home,  I  will  not  grumble.  But 
it  is  a  long  time  hence  !  .  .  .  Local  news  interests  me 
immensely  !  More  '  J  '  pens  !!!... 


(10) 

September  23,  1877. 

...  It  is  (or  has  been)  freezing  here,  and  yesterday 
for  the  first  time  I  started  the  stove  !  As  you  know,  there 
are  no  fireplaces  in  Germany.  I  was  horribly  frightened 
of  it,  for  when  first  lit  it  groans  in  a  most  alarming  way,  but 
it  is,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  quite  harmless.  The  heat  these 
stoves  throw  out  is  enormous,  and  the  room  warms  in  about 
five  minutes  as  completely  as  if  there  had  been  a  fire  there 
all  day ;  but  the  nuisance  is  that  unless  you  wish  to  be 
frizzled  up  with  heat  you  must  put  on  very  little  coal,  and 
keep  on  so  doing  about  every  half-hour.  This  makes  me 
rather  wild,  but  for  a  person  living  the  sort  of  life  I  do  here 
it  is  much  better  to  have  a  thing  like  a  stove  that  acts  at 
once  than  a  fire.  I  let  out  the  stove  (which  retains  its 
heat  all  night)  at  7.30  (supper- time),  and  it  is  then  laid  all 
ready  for  lighting  next  day.  In  the  morning  I  fly  out  of 
bed  at  5.30  and  apply  a  match  thereto  (unlike  a  fire  it  always 
burns  when  once  lit !  !),  get  into  bed  again,  set  the  alarum 
on  half  an  hour,  and  when  I  get  up  at  six  the  room  is  warm 
and  the  little  pot  of  water  I  placed  on  the  stove  boiling — 
so  that  I  am  sure  of  hot  water  to  wash  in  (all  Germans  wash 
in  cold,  all  winter  through,  and  this  I  am  sure  is  a  key  to  the 
inadequacy  of  the  performance  !  !).  .  .  . 


22o  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED 

The  great  Sonata  is  finished !  !  That  is,  I  am  putting 
a  touch  or  two  to  the  last  movement  (a  Rondo),  but  by  my 
next  lesson  on  Wednesday  all  will  be  ready.  Maas  is  very 
complimentary  about  it,  and  I  myself  am  pretty  well 
satisfied  with  the  latter  movements — more  because  I  feel 
now  I  am  getting  into  working  easily  in  the  harness  of  form 
than  because  I  think  the  Sonata  itself  particularly  good. 
Three  weeks  ago  I  never  could  have  believed  it  possible 
for  me  to  launch  out  at  once  upon  and  bring  to  a  satis- 
factory conclusion  a  piano  work  like  a  Sonata,  and  it  is 
so  encouraging  to  find  a  mountain  melt  into  a  mole-hill 
when  you  commence  to  scale  it !  The  week  after  next  is 
the  '  Aufnahme  Pruefung/  when  all  the  new  pupils  have 
to  enter  the  Conservatorium  and  play  before  the  Directory — 
in  fact,  show  off !  Maas  says  I  am  to  play  the  Sonata !  ! 
and  as  it  is  difficult  I  am  now  studying  it  with  him  !  This 
will  be  a  great  recommendation  for  me  at  the  outset  of  my 
career  within  those  newly  whitewashed  walls. 

After  all  I  am  not  particularly  quick  at  swimming 
nor  the  reverse,  but  about  average !  Fat  people  learn 
quickest,  as  they  float  better  and  have  more  leisure  to 
think  about  making  the  movements  properly.  Those  who, 
like  me,  have  heavy  bones  and  a  thin,  muscly  frame,  have 
at  first  greatest  difficulty  in  keeping  afloat  but  make  the 
best  swimmers  in  the  end,  and  can  dive,  etc. ,  better.  I  enjoy 
the  Schwimm-Bassin  immensely.  The  other  day  I  came 
rather  early — the  gentlemen  were  not  yet  out — so  I  sat  in 
the  lobby  and  chatted  with  the  swimming  mistress  and 
her  two  daughters,  and  said  it  was  a  great  pity  they  had 
no  piano  there  (in  Germany  you  always  find  a  well-tuned 
piano  in  all  waiting-rooms  and  restaurants,  etc.).  At  this 
moment  in  came  a  tall  woman  in  black,  who  owns  the 
whole  '  Sophienbad '  and  hearing  my  remark  entreated  me 
to  come  upstairs  and  play  on  her  piano.  So  I  did,  and  sang 
away  like  fun.  They  were  enchanted  of  course  !  !  ! '  and 
begged  me  to  be  '  too  early '  as  often  as  possible.  .  .  . 

O  Mother !  now  that  the  cold  weather  is  coming  I  some- 
times get  a  sort  of  sick  feeling — '  Hunting '  !  ! — But  one 
can't  have  everything,  and  if  you  have  got  what  is  best  in 
life  you  can't  expect  to  have  what  is  second-best  as  well ! 

Rubinstein  comes  in  November,  also  Schumann.  Krebs 
next  month  !  !  Joachim  also  !  Glory  !  .  .  . 


IN  GERMANY  AND  ITALY  221 

(ii) 
To  NINA  SMYTH 

Tuesday  evening,  October  9. 

.  .  .  First  I  must  tell  you  a  proud  moment  is  drawing 
near  for  me  !  In  the  Conservatorium  you  must  have  cards, 
as  almost  every  interview  with  the  '  heads  '  must  be  prefaced 
by  a  sending  up  of  your  card.  This  is  natural,  as  people 
of  all  nations  are  at  the  Conservatorium,  and  the  names 
of  300  pupils  are  not  easy  to  learn  off  by  heart.  My  dear — 
there  are  two  real  live  mulattos  and  one  nigger  here  ! 
The  negress  (for  she  is  of  the  '  fair  '  sex)  is  by  way  of  being 
a  great  dresser.  Nature  manages  her  hair  of  course  (and 
I'm  sure  no  art  could  manage  it),  but  she  affections  long 
gold  ear-rings  and  most  skittish  bonnets,  and  wears  gloves 
on  all  occasions.  I  suppose  she  forgets  her  face,  and  thinks 
that  then  no  one'll  see  her  hands.  Then  we've  got  a 
Norwegian  with  a  red  cap  and  tassel  who  parades  about  in 
a  cassock  and  altogether  is  not  unlike  Uncle  Charles ;  and 
three  fire-worshippers  who  wear  chimney-pot  hats  with  no 
brims  (sort  of  busbies  made  of  top-hat  material)  and  flowing 
robes  hke  Papa's  military  cape,  only  more  so.  But  I  am 
wandering  from  my  subject — I  meant  to  show  it  was  not 
unbridled  vanity,  nor  reckless  expenditure  on  my  part, 
that  caused  me  to  order — 100  visiting  cards  for  is.  $d.  with 
my  name  and  address !  !  !  !  If  ever  there  was  a  peacock 
I  am  that  peacock,  almost  as  grand  as  you  will  be  when 
you  can  read  writing.  ...  I'm  going  to  send  home  such 
a  sausage  to  Mama  by  Mr.  Ewing — it's  like  the  most 
beautifully  delicate  forced  meat  you  ever  tasted.  Mary 
would  eat  a  whole  one  at  a  sitting  I  fancy.  ...  I  don't 
think  I  ever  appreciated  the  necessity  of  temporary  spinster- 
hood  (at  any  rate,  if  not  total)  to  certain  kinds  of  lives,  till 
I  came  here !  !  You  may  rely  upon  that  and  fear  no 
brother-in-law.  .  .  . 

P.5. — I  fear  there's  no  chance  of  the  contingency  Violet 
suggests — that  I  should  tire  of  Leipzig  and  come  home 
before  my  year ! 

(12) 
To  MY  MOTHER 

October  26  (approx.),  1877. 

...  It  was  so  funny  this  morning — I  had  been  dreaming 
that  I  was  at  home  and  showing  you  the  new  hat  I  have 


222  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED 

bought,  and  you  were  saying :  '  Well,  it  looks  a  great  deal 
better  on  the  head  than  in  the  hand '  !  !  when  I  awoke. 
I  have  so  often  dreamed  at  home  that  I  was  in  Leipzig,  that 
this  morning,  before  I  knew  where  I  was,  I  found  myself 
feeling  the  wall  and  staring  round  the  room  to  see  if  I  was 
in  my  bed  at  home  or  here.  I  saw  that  the  wall  was  brown 
and  said  to  myself  '  then  I  must  be  in  Leipzig/  and  dozed 
off  again.  In  fact  often  now  I  wonder  if  I  shan't  *  come  to 
myself '  in  my  bed  at  home  and  find  I've  had  a  fever  or 
something,  like  people  in  books  !  !  The  work  over  that 
counterpoint  told  on  me  a  little — tho'  the  only  symptoms 
are  generally  sleepiness  and  disinclination  to  compose. 
Of  course  I  took  that  latter  very  easily,  as  often  at  home 
I  felt  '  is  it  possible  that  I,  who  to-day  feel  like  a  doll  with 
a  mashed  turnip  for  a  brain,  ever  composed  ?  '  The 
inclination  always  comes  again  and  en  effet  returned  to 
me  yesterday  when  I  got  on  a  bit  with  my  new  '  Geistinger 
Sonata '  and  wrote  a  song.  (The  first  sonata  is  dedicated 
of  course  to  you,  Mother  darling.) 

The  story  of  the  Geistinger  Sonata  is  indeed  a  queer 
one — it  was  begun  last  Sunday.  I  had  already  begun  to 
feel '  verstimmt '  and  unimaginative — when  .  .  . 

[Here  follows  an  account  of  my  calling  on  the  Geistinger 
as  described  in  the  text,  but  of  course  the  slight  feeling  of 
disillusionment  is  not  mentioned.'] 

.  .  .  You  can  imagine  the  effect  of  this  visit !  I 
came  home,  felt  another  creature,  and  forthwith  composed 
I  think  the  best  thing  I  have  yet  done — the  skeleton  of  a 
'  first  movement '  of  a  new  sonata.  It  is  really  programme 
music,  though  no  one  would  know  it !  I  have  the  whole 
scene  there— going  up  the  stairs,  the  '  Herzklopfen '  at  the 
door,  and  all !  !  When  it  is  finished  I  have  secured  the 
services  of  the  best  player  in  the  Conservatorium  to  play 
it  at  the  Abendunterhaltung.  But  that  may  be  ages 
hence.  I  haven't  filled  up  the  first  movement  yet  and  don't 
feel  at  all  in  a  '  sonata  '  mood  at  present.  I  shall  show  it 
to  Reinecke  next  Thursday. 

The  counterpoint  master  is  always  urging  me  to  make 
the  acquaintance  of  some  girl  who  sings  well,  and  get  her 
to  sing  some  of  my  songs  in  the  Abendunterhaltung.  I 
always  put  it  off  but  must  see  about  it  this  week.  It's 
rather  a  horrid  thing  to  have  to  do,  but  as  everyone  does 
it  I  may  as  well !  .  .  .  I  could  not  read  all  of  your  last 
letter  !  !  The  ink  was  bad. 


IN  GERMANY  AND  ITALY  223 


October  1877; 

.  .  .  Ever  so  many  thanks  for  your  letter,  but  do  you 
know,  Mother  darling,  it  took  me  more  than  20  minutes 
to  read  it  and  almost  half  a  page  is  still  a  mystery  to  me. 
Do  ask  Papa  to  give  that  horrid  cheap  blue  paper  to  the 
children,  who  write  with  spider-leg  pens,  and  whose  letters 
are  almost  readable  even  when  written  on  that  paper. 
But  you  write  large  and  black,  and  it's  utterly  impossible 
to  make  out  half  your  letters  unless  you  wrote  on  only 
one  side  of  the  paper,  and  in  the  end  that  would  be  false 
economy.  When  Aunt  Judy  wrote  to  me  from  Frimhurst 
she  had  to  write  so,  as  her  hand  is  also  very  black.  If  you 
write  on  blue  Frimhurst  paper,  I  only  get  such  a  short 
letter,  and  as  one  depends  a  good  deal  upon  letters  from 
home  surely  he  could  get  some  other  paper  ?  You  see  I 
am  rather  sore  on  this  subject  !  !  as  I  have  already  sent 
two  fruitless  appeals  to  Papa  !!!... 

Last  night  at  the  Chamber  Music  (do  you  remember  at 
Aunt  Louisa's  that  day  our  discussion  about  the  '  Chamber 
pieces  '  !)  Saint-Saens,  the  great  French  composer,  who 
besides  that  is  the  greatest  player  I  ever  heard,  bar  Rubin- 
stein (though  probably  he  is  not  so  many-sided  if  one 
knew  him  as  well),  played  —  and  was  called  back  nine 
times  —  and  played  two  encores  at  the  end  of  all  things  for 
the  benefit  of  the  Conservatorists,  who  went  utterly  wild 
over  him,  and  (when  he  was  here  a  month  ago)  sent  him 
a  testimonial  !  !  When  Saint-Saens  drove  away,  such  a 
row  you  never  heard.  They  wanted  to  take  the  horses 
out,  and  drag  him  home  —  luckily  for  him  however  (as  he 
was  undoubtedly  hungry)  his  coachman  drove  on  at  the 
first  cry  of  '  Spannt  die  Pferde  ab  !  !  '  *  (While  I  have 
been  sitting  writing  this  letter  at  my  window,  which  looks 
out  on  the  Promenade  about  100  yards  away,  I've  seen 
three  dwarfs  go  by  !  !  !  This  will  give  you  an  idea  of  the 
number  in  Germany.  It's  horrid.)  .  .  . 

(14) 

November/  1877. 

.  .  .  Poor  Professor  Brockhaus  (brother  of  my  friend) 
has  died  of  that  horrible  disease  '  trichinosis/  caused  by 

1  Take  out  the  horses. 


224  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED 

the  existence  of  little  animals  in  pigs — which  (when  the 
diseased  pigs  are  made  into  a  particular  kind  of  sausage, 
eaten  almost  raw)  remain  alive  in  the  sausage  and  eat  up 
the  inside  of  the  poor  person  who  has  taken  that  particular 
sort.  With  the  Professor  they  settled  in  the  lungs  and 
behind  his  eyes,  so  that  he  first  became  blind  and  then 
died  a  most  painful  death.  There  have  been  but  two 
instances  of  death  from  trichinosis — which  is  not  generally 
dangerous — but  lots  of  people  are  ill.  Luckily  I  hate 
that  sort  of  Wurst,  and  only  tasted  it  once  about  three 
months  ago,  at  which  time  the  pigs  weren't  infected. 
Now,  no  Schweinefleisch  is  eaten  in  Leipzig — we  might 
be  Israelites  !  .  .  . 

(15) 

December,  1877. 

.  .  .  Now  that  the  winter  is  coming  on  I  go  a  great  deal 
in  Gesellschaft,  and  find  that  far  from  making  me  dis- 
inclined to  work  it  gives  one  a  fresh  impetus  thereto. 
For  of  late  I  have  been  overworking  myself  a  little  and  have 
in  consequence  been  catching  it  from  Frau  Brockhaus 
and  her  mother-in-law !  Hearing  so  much  music  '  greift 
so  furchtbar  an  '  *•  as  they  say  here  (a  very  pithy  expression). 
To  these  Gesellschafts  one  goes  either  in  ordinary  evening 
dress  or  in  a  high  dress — like  the  tussore  and  blue.  Thus 
the  Ascot  dress  will  be  most  useful,  and  as  it  will  be  worn 
only  by  candlelight  do  you  think  the  fadedness  matters  ? 
As  it  is  such  a,  to  Germans,  marvellous  make,  if  you 
cannot  get  it  dyed  in  England  without  taking  it  to  pieces, 
they  do  them  here  whole  very  well  and  cheaply.  Also, 
Mother  darling,  would  you  send  me  one  or  two  of  my  long 
petticoats — petticoat  bodices  I  fancy  I  have  with  me — 
at  the  bottom  of  the  box  among  my  summer  things.  If 
you  can,  do  send  the  Ascot  dress  with  the  other  things, 
as  that  will  come  in  so  useful. 

Towards  Christmas,  darling  Mother,  I  get  Heimweh2 
too,  and  I  think  oh  so  often  of  home  and  you  all.  I  wish 
they'd  be  quick  and  set  up  a  telephone  between  Farnborough 
and  Leipzig  !  But  the  person  who  in  every  way  tries  to 
fill  the  place  of  Mother  to  me — who  interests  herself  for  me 
and  gives  herself  more  trouble  on  my  account  than  I  can 
describe  to  you — who  scolds  me  and  tells  me  I  am  hope- 

1  Takes  a  lot  out  of  you.  *  Homesickness. 


IN  GERMANY  AND  ITALY  225 

lessly  childish  and  inexperienced — who  tells  me  what  to 
do  and  what  not  to  do — and  who  I  do  believe  is  getting  fond 
of  me — is  Frau  Eduard  Brockhaus  of  whom  I  shall  always 
speak  as  '  Frau  Doctor  '  (her  husband  is  a  B.A.).  Through 
her  I  have  an  entree  into  all  the  best  houses  in  Leipzig  and 
J  move  in  the  circles  '  (vide  Carver  ley !)  after  a  fashion 
that  would  delight  Herr  Schloesser's  heart !  !  But  what 
I  prize  more  than  anything  I  get  through  her  is  her  friend- 
ship and  guardianship.  I  can  go  to  her  beautiful  house 
and  sit  there  and  talk  to  her  whenever  I  have  time.  I  tell 
her  everything  I  have  been  after,  and  whom  I  have  seen, 
and  she  always  tells  me  she  feels  responsible  for  me  !  I  am 
indeed  in  luck  to  have  her  for  a  friend. 

Marie  Geistinger  has  returned  at  last !  I  was  told  by 
someone  who  had  seen  her  arrival  in  Leipzig  that  she 
left  the  station  in  five  cabs — one  for  herself,  maid  and 
dog,  and  four  others  '  lauter  Koffer '  !  ! 1).  The  extensive 
Garde-robe  of  course  !  The  other  day  I  met  the  Director 
of  the  Stadt  Theater  and  his  wife  (great  swells)  at  a  party, 
and  that's  nice,  for  if  they  took  a  fancy  to  one,  you  meet 
all  sorts  of  interesting  people  there — including  the  Geistinger 
perhaps.  .  .  . 

Thank  you,  Mother  darling,  so  immensely  for  your 
photo  of  Hugo — most  excellent — but  what  I  want  is  one 
of  my  beauteous  Mother.  To-day  by  Frau  Dr.  B.'s  desire 
I  took  her  all  the  photos  I  have  of  my  family,  but  yours 
I  wouldn't  take,  as  I  do  so  hate  to  show  people  such  a  vile 
likeness. 


(16) 

December  16,  1877. 

My  darling  Mother, — I've  got  such  a  lot  to  tell  you  I 
hardly  know  where  to  begin.  (I  instantly  make  a  large 
blot  down  below  by  way  of  prologue  !)  I  think  I  shall 
keep  the  best  part — the  musical — for  the  end  and  instantly 
launch  into  the  dissipations  I  have  been  indulging  in. 

I  have  told  you  that  my  dear  Frau  Dr.  Brockhaus  holds 
all  Conservatorists  in  greatest  abhorrence,  and  I  believe 
she'd  like  me  never  to  speak  with  any  of  them  !  However, 
there  I  strike  and  say  one  must  be  friendly  with  the  girls 
in  one's  class.  Well,  her  great  idea  is  that  by  planting  me 

1  Nothing  but  trunks. 
VOL.  i.  Q 


226  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED 

firmly  in  her  society  (and  anyone  protegeed  by  her  is  always 
kindly  treated)  I  shall  escape  the  shoals  and  quicksands 
of  Bohemianism  in  the  Conservatorium.     So  I  have  now 
been  introduced  to  all  the  swells  in  Leipzig — yesterday  I 
wound   up   with    the    Limburgers    (German    Consul)    and 
Baroness  Tauchnitz,  a  dear  very  handsome  old  lady  about 
as  tall  as  Mrs.  Oswald  Smith.     In   consequence    of    this 
I  got  an  invitation  to  the  '  Professorium  ' — an  entertain- 
ment given  by  the  Professors  of  the  University.     It  consists 
in  the  following.     You  dress  yourself  as  for  a  small  dance 
in  England  (I  had  to  put  on  my  black,  and  Indian  scarf,  as 
the  floor  was  said  to  be  dirty  and  I  didn't  want  to  spoil 
my  green  silk).     The  proper  thing  is  for  all  young  girls 
to  go  in  white,  and  (bones,  red  elbows  and  all)  '  ausge- 
schnitten.' x    Frau  Dr.  wanted  me  to  do  so,  but  I  rebelled 
and  said  I  couldn't  turn  German  all  at  once,  and  that  people 
would  say  on  seeing  my  black  gown   (quite  unheard-of 
for  girls  here  !)  '  Eine  Englaenderin  '  and  pass  on.     Well, 
first  of  all  you  enter  the  ball-room  and  find  it  filled  with 
rows  of  chairs  arranged  in  circles — and  at  the  one  end  a  little 
dais  and  thereon  a  table.     When  all  have  arrived,  one  of 
the  Professors  mounts  the  dais  and  delivers  an  address — 
sometimes  long  and  stupid — sometimes  (then  for  instance) 
short  and  sweet.     After  this  is  over  a  scene  of  the  wildest 
confusion  ensues,  for  suddenly — apparently  from  the  bowels 
of  the  earth,  like  the  demons  in  the  last  act  of  '  Don 
Giovanni ' — the  room  is  filled  with  waiters  bearing  long 
tables  with  which  they  clear  the  course,  and  then  follows 
supper.     It  consists  chiefly  in  waiting  for  the  next  course, 
but  is  pleasant  on  the  whole.     When  this  is  over  the  rooms 
are    cleared    again    and    dancing    begins.     Everything    is 
managed  by  an  omnipotent  '  M.C.'  and  the  dance  opens 
with  a  Polonaise,  i.e.  a  long  procession  is  formed  two  and 
two,  and  then  off  we  go  round  and  round  the  room,  describing 
all  manner  of  curious  evolutions  like  a  big  sea-serpent. 
The  Polonaise  lasts  till  the  band  has  had  enough  of  it — 
and  then  comes  a  Valse. 

Oh,  Mother,  I  could  weep  over  the  waltzing  !  Any  one 
of  my  partners  would  have  been  turned  out  of  an  English 
ball-room  as  dangerous.  You  know  how  I  like  to  dance — 
very,  very  slowly  and  quietly,  in  perfect  time,  beginning 
at  the  beginning  of  the  dance,  and  going  on  to  the  end 
without  turning  a  hair  !  !  Well,  imagine  me  seized  upon 

1  Decolletee. 


IN  GERMANY  AND  ITALY  227 

and  whirled  round  the  room,  often  on  the  floor,  often  in 
mid-air,  never  at  a  less  rate  than  16  miles  an  hour.  Your 
partner  hops  nearly  up  to  the  ceiling  and  unless  you  want 
all  your  teeth  knocked  out  you  must  hop  too.  No  sooner 
have  you  pantingly  implored  to  stop  a  minute  than  up 
comes  another  gentleman  and  begs  for  an  '  extra  tour/ 
Off  you  fly  again,  once  round  the  room,  and  are  delivered 
over  to  your  original  partner  who  whirls  you  off  again  with- 
out further  delay.  If  another  couple  cross  the  course  you 
promptly  send  them  spinning  out  of  the  way  (how  that 
used  to  annoy  me  at  home  when  any  daring  partner  did 
such  a  thing  ;  here  no  one  minds  aching  shin  bones,  bruised 
arms,  and  loosened  teeth — I  declare  mine  felt  quite  loose 
at  the  end  of  the  ball).  Everyone  bangs,  pushes,  hops, 
kicks,  and  jumps  with  all  the  good  humour  in  the  world 
and  the  rather  elderly  professors  are  quite  as  game  as 
the  students.  Well,  after  the  valse  come  quadrilles 
(something  like  ours),  Tyroliennes  (sort  of  Mazurka — where 
to  hop  up  to  the  clouds  is  the  thing),  galops  (where  to  shoot 
along  the  room  straightforward  as  if  you  were  skating  is 
the  thing),  and  polkas  (where  to  behave  as  much  like  a 
dangerous  lunatic  as  possible  is  the  thing) ;  also  two  or 
three  '  eingeschobene  '  or  extra  valses  are  danced.  You 
may  ask,  did  I  not  collapse  completely  before  the  ball 
was  over  ? — particularly  when  I  tell  you  that  there  is  no 
refreshment  table  and  that  it  is  only  with  great  difficulty 
that  you  can  procure  a  glass  of  raspberry  vinegar  (which  I 
abhor  ! ).  I  should  certainly  have  collapsed  did  not  my 
nationality  come  to  my  aid.  It  is  quite  unusual  to  sit 
and  rest  between  the  dances.  Directly  the  dance  is  over 
your  partner  conducts  you  back  to  your  chaperone,  and  at 
that  instant  up  comes  your  next  partner  and  claims  you. 
You  then  walk  about  for  perhaps  ten  minutes,  no  idea  of 
sitting.  The  theory  is  that  sitting  makes  you  so  tired  ! 
I  pleaded  however  that  in  England  it  was  the  custom,  and 
that  I  should  have  to  be  borne  home  on  a  stretcher  if  I 
didn't  sit !  Next  day  I  was  utterly  helpless,  so  was  Mrs. 
Forster. 

Have  I  spoken  to  you  about  the  Forsters  ?  .  .  .  a 
young  couple  who  are  here  for  two  years.  She  is  a  daughter 
of  the  celebrated  Mrs.  Benyon,  chere  amie  of  Robert 
Browning  (I  pointed  both  out  to  you  that  night  in  Tenterden 
Street,  when  Browning  got  in  such  a  rage  with  the  man 
who  pushed).  Mrs.  Forster  I  often  saw — she  was  there 


228  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED 

too  and  has  a  face  one  doesn't  forget.  Her  husband  is 
studying  at  the  University  here,  and  she  amuses  herself 
at  the  Conservatorium.  She  had  a  letter  of  introduction 
to  Mrs.  Brockhaus  also,  so  it's  very  jolly.  We  go  about 
to  these  places  a  good  deal  together  and  are  very  fond  of 
each  other.  Mrs.  Brockhaus  declares  that  some  balls  are 
coming  to  which  I  must  go  '  ausgeschnitten '  and  ought 
to  go  in  white.  As  I  have  no  white  dress  here  I  can't 
go  in  white,  but  might  have  my  two  dresses,  the  black  and 
green,  cut  down  low  very  easily — qu'est-ce  que  tu  en  dis  ? 
Now  for  the  musical  part !  I  now  have  two  composition 
lessons  during  the  week,  and  yesterday,  for  the  first  time, 
I  took  some  things  to  Jadassohn  (whose  new  symphony 
has  just  been  given  in  the  Gewandhaus  with  much  applause). 
I  think  I  have  told  you  there  are  but  three  girls  in  the 
Conservatorium  besides  myself  who  compose.  Well — 
Jadassohn  just  said  what  Henschel  and  the  others  said.  .  .  . 
It  has  come  round  to  me  that  he  gives  out  that  I  am  the 
only  really  talented  composeress  he  has  met  in  his  whole 
life.  ...  I  am  waiting  in  great  excitement  for  my  box 
from  home.  I  quite  forget  what  evening  dresses  I  had. 
If  there  are  any  in  good  repair — very  good,  for  Frau  B.  has 
eyes  like  a  lynx — please  send  them,  Mother  darling.  I 
think  all  my  ball-dresses  were  danced  out !  .  .  . 


(17) 

December  21,  1877. 

My  own  darling  Mother, — I  have  written  in  all  12 
Xmas  letters  !  (8  to  home  people  !)  and  now  as  a  bonne 
bouche  write  my  letter  to  you.  Mother  darling,  I  wish  you 
knew  how  much  I  am  thinking  of  you  all.  I  don't  think 
you've  been  out  of  my  thoughts  one  hour  ever  since  the 
Xmas  season  came  in,  and  as  Xmas  Day  draws  near 
I  feel  more  and  more  the  many  miles  there  are  between 
us.  A  very,  very  happy  Christmas  to  you,  Mother  darling, 
and  a  bright  New  Year.  Your  dear  note,  announcing  the 
despatch  of  the  box,  just  arrived.  I  will  tell  Frau  B.  that 
you  would  rather  I  did  not  go  decolletee  and  I'm  sure  there'll 
be  no  difficulty  about  it.  The  beautiful  white  dress  will 
do  for  Baroness  Tauchnitz's  grand  party  on  the  I4th.  It 
sounds  much  too  good  for  a  ball,  and  certainly  shall  not 
be  worn  at  one. 


IN  GERMANY  AND  ITALY  229 

I'm  very  busy  now  over  a  four-part  chorale — any 
amount  of  Contrapunkt  therein.  Reinecke  himself  got 
quite  interested  in  me  last  Thursday  and  set  me  my  work 
himself,  and  I  told  you  what  Jadassohn  (with  whom  I  now 
also  have  composition  lessons)  said  of  me  !  Fancy,  I  am 
the  only  woman  in  the  whole  Conservatorium  who  has  ever 
been  promoted  to  composition  lessons  from  Reinecke  !  ! 
I  only  lately  found  that  out,  and  feel  two  inches  taller 
ever  since  !  ! 

You  know,  Mother  darling,  I  am  going  to  send  my 
presents  at  Easter  by  the  Binnings,  but  I  can't  resist 
despatching  a  box  of  the  wonderful  German  confectionery 
only  to  be  got  at  Christmas.  I  shan't  tell  you  what  they 
are  (except  that  they  are  mostly  '  marzipan '  or  whatever 
you  call  that  stuff  that  tastes  like  the  almond  on  wedding- 
cake),  but  though  they  look  too  awful,  fear  not.  They 
are  from  the  renowned  Wilhelm  Felsche,  Hof  Conditorei 
in  Berlin  (to  the  German  Emperor),  Vienna  (to  the  Austrian 
Emperor),  Dresden  and  Leipzig  (to  the  Saxon  King),  and 
so  on — more  renowned  than  Fortnum  &  Mason.  But  as 
soon  as  you've  tasted  them  you'll  know  if  they  are  good 
or  not ! 

I've  been  studying  the  Rondo  in  my  first  Sonata  (yours) 
and  at  last  have  managed  to  master  it  after  a  fashion,  as 
I  suppose  I  shall  have  to  play  something — and  that's  a 
taking  sort  of  thing.  You  will  be  pleased  to  hear  that 
despite  my  musically  unorthodox  tendencies  the  first 
violin  in  the  Gewandhaus  orchestra,  old  Rontgen,  said 
'  that  Rondo  thema  is  so  pure  and  fresh,  that  I  could 
almost  swear  it  was  Mozart '  !  !  I  have  set  my  pet  poem 
of  Shelley : 

'  My  soul  is  an  enchanted  boat 
Which  like  a  sleeping  swan  doth  float 
Upon  the  silver  waves  of  thy  sweet  singing,'  etc. 

but  am  not  satisfied  with  it  (as  is  Jadassohn  !).     It  is  hard 
to  write  up  to  such  words. 

To-morrow  we  shall  be  skating.  Last  night  there  were 
20  degrees  of  frost  and  all  day  there  have  been  10  degrees, 
but  the  German  police  are  really  too  cautious.  However, 
everyone  says  this  frost  will  last,  as  it  came  so  gradually.  .  .  . 
My  darling  Mother,  I  wish,  I  wish  I  could  be  with  you  for 
Xmas,  but  it's  no  good  wishing  what  can't  be,  and  all 


230  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED 

the  telephones  in  the  world  couldn't  bring  me  nearer  to 
you  than  I  shall  be  in  thought  all  next  week. 

Your  ever  devoted  child. 


(18) 

December  1877. 

.  .  .  Our  holidays  last  till  Wednesday  next ;  however 
I  began  composing  a  new  Sonata  yesterday,  and  mean  to 
finish  writing  out  the  Geistinger  Sonata  to-night.  Ill 
never  write  anything  in  Cj  minor  again!  The  slightest 
modulation,  even  into  the  next  key  (GJ  minor)  involves 
no  end  of  double  sharps,  and  the  writing  out  is  simply 
fearful !  The  second  movement  is  undoubtedly  the  best 
thing  I've  done  yet  though  Reinecke  will  persist  in  saying 
the  third  is  '  better  work  '  !  !  But  really  with  skating 
and  Xmas  week  together  I'm  perpetually  on  the  go. 
I've  been  skating  hard  and,  you  will  be  happy  to  hear, 
am  the  best  lady  skater  in  Leipzig.  I  never  saw  anything 
like  the  women  here.  Very  few  can  do  the  outside  edge — 
and  as  for  cutting  figures  !  !  .  .  .  The  German  gentlemen 
are  much  struck  of  course,  and  think  the  English  women 
a  more  wonderful  race  even  than  they  did  before  !  I  think 
somehow  or  other  I  have  improved  very  much  in  my  skating, 
though  I've  not  skated  for  the  last  two  winters,  seeing  that 
we've  had  no  ice  at  home  !  I  go  and  practise  when  the 
pond  is  empty — at  9  A.M. — and  can  do  lots  of  queer  things 
now.  .  .  . 

...  I  had  great  fun  at  the  Rudolf  B.'s  (up  above  the 
Ed.  B.'s).  They  had  a  sort  of  dinner  at  1.30,  and  after 
dinner  we  all  went  into  the  smoking-room  (generally  in 
German  houses  the  last  of  a  suite  of  4  or  5,  so  that  one  can 
wander  in  and  out  at  will)  and  according  to  student  fashion 
each  one  sang  a  song  followed  by  chorus  !  I  had  to  conduct 
and  was  given  the  feather  broom  (with  which  the  Italian 
curiosities  I  told  you  about  are  dusted)  as  baton  !  After- 
wards I  went  down  quietly  to  the  Ed.  B.'s  and  we  did 
music.  Both  the  eldest  sons  who  are  now  home  on  leave 
are  very  musical — respectively  sing  bass  and  tenor,  and 
play  violin  and  cello.  We  did  Haydn's  trios  and  sang 
quartettes  of  Mendelssohn  and  Schumann  at  sight,  and 
I  sang  with  obligate  accompaniment,  and  altogether  it 
was  very  nice.  That's .  what  is  so ,  nice  about  Germany  ; 


IN  GERMANY  AND  ITALY  231 

almost  everyone  you  meet  can  take  a  part  in  a  vocal 
quartett.  .  .  .  I'm  rather  sorry  Frau  Dr.  and  the  Forsters 
don't  hit  it  off  so  very  well.  Mrs.  F.  is  a  great  dear,  but  a 
little  heavy,  and  wanting  in  a  most  essential  point,  social 
talent.  I  mean  she  doesn't  help  to  make  a  party  go  off 
well,  and  though  she  enjoys  herself  thoroughly  doesn't 
manage  to  produce  that  impression  !  I  see  Frau  Dr.  is  a 
little  impatient  of  that  particular  failing  as  she  herself 
is  so  very  much  the  other  way.  Mr.  Forster  is  fearfully 
English  and  finds  very  little  here  to  his  taste,  and  though 
I  think  he  tries  hard  to  be  cosmopolitan,  he  can't  help 
showing  some  of  the  '  Oh  !  bother  !  let's  go  home  !  '  sort 
of  feeling  that  besets  him  so  continually  !  I'm  very  glad 
I  am  of  a  plastic  nature,  as  plastic  natures  seem  to  get  so 
much  more  fun  out  of  life  than  stolid  ones. 


(19) 

January  13,  1878. 

.  The  Gewandhaus  ball  was  grand  fun,  very  swell. 
The  wife  of  the  Castellan  of  the  Conservatorium  had  charge 
of  the  ladies'  room  and  the  respect  I  am  now  treated  with 
by  the  menials  and  officials  in  the  Conservatorium  is  most 
killing.  The  day  after,  when  I  '  resumed  my  studies/ 
all  those  I  met  enquired  with  great  empressement  if  I  had 
found  it  agreeable  !  .  .  . 

I  think  Frau  Dr.  B.  must  feel  me  rather  a  responsibility, 
as  firstly  I  am  English,  and  secondly,  I  suppose,  in  the 
mere  fact  of  the  passion  that  brings  me  here,  not  quite 
like  all  girls.  But  I  take  a  real  pleasure  in  pleasing 
her  and  now  she  calls  me  '  Du '  and  is  very  dear 
altogether.  .  .  . 

.  I  say  most  unhesitatingly  that  German  beds  are 
the  most  comfortable  in  the  world.  In  the  winter,  if  you're 
a  quiet  sleeper,  springs  underneath  and  feathers  (not  too 
many)  on  the  top  of  you  is  glory.  .  .  . 

The  whole  river  is  frozen  over,  and  we  are  going  to 
make  a  party  and  skate  down  to  Connewitz,  a  village  4 
or  5  miles  from  here — won't  it  be  fun  ?  Frau  B.  and 
other  elders  drive  down — meet  us  there — and  we  all  take 
tea  together  at  a  hotel — but  I  doubt  whether  this  plan  will 
come  off,  even  if  the  frost  lasts.  Skating  plans  never  do 
come  off  somehow.  , 


232  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED 

(20) 

January  24,  1878. 

...  I  am  so  much  distressed  that  I  can't  go  on  working 
away  at  my  string  quartett.  My  master  was  so  pleased 
with  the  first  movement.  He's  been  telling  lots  of  people 
about  it,  and  there  it  lies,  and  I  haven't  the  faintest  inspira- 
tion to  go  on  with  it,  thanks  to  this  seediness  !  However, 
inspiration  is  a  thing  that  comes  and  goes  like  the  wind, 
and  one  hasn't  the  remotest  idea  when  and  where  it  will 
spring  up.  .  .  .  I  do  hope  my  letter  to  Papa  reached  and 
that  funds  are  en  route.  It  will  be  too  unpleasant  to  go 
penniless  into  a  new  pension.  My  address  henceforth  is 
Salomon  St.  19.  That  is  easy  to  remember !  Solomon 
spelt  with  an  '  a.' 

(21) 
Salomonstrasse  19  :   Early  February,  '78. 

.  .  I  have  to  sing  my  songs  everywhere  (my  voice  is 
in  very  good  form  at  present,  for  it !).  But  do  you  know 
I  never  felt  more  utterly  hopelessly  distrustful  of  myself 
and  ashamed  of  myself  than  I  do  now.  I  can  hardly  help 
saying  straight  out  in  people's  faces  what  I  do  say  in  so 
many  words  :  '  Oh  yes,  that's  all  very  fine,  but  the  question 
is,  will  my  talent  stand  cultivation  ?  '  Years  only  can 
prove  that  question,  for  till  one  is  through  one's  studies 
and  has  all  one's  material  there,  one  cannot  tell  if  one 
has  profited  by  those  studies  and  can  use  and  shape  that 
material.  .  .  .  I  am  sorry  about  the  ferns  !  I  can  so  well 
imagine  how  you  went  into  the  porch,  with  your  long 
Schleppe1  sweeping  into  the  small  pools  of  water  that 
always  were  there  in  the  morning,  and  discovered  that  the 
ferns  were  dead  !  But  I  do  hope  they  will  revive.  .  .  . 
Has  Papa  told  Curtis  to  sit  up  straight  on  the  box  and 
to  drive  less  like  the  ratcatcher  !  !  !  I  do  hope  his  gout  is 
better. 

1  Train. 


IN  GERMANY  AND  ITALY  233 

(22) 

Late  in  February,  '78. 

...  I  waited  till  to-day  to  write  to  you  for  I  wanted 
to  tell  you  about  last  night.  I  was  invited  to  a  dinner 
party  at  one  of  the  standard  Leipzig  houses  (Brockhaus, 
Frege,  Limburger,  Tauchnitz  and  Lampe)  on  purpose  to 
meet  Mendelssohn's  daughter,  Frau  Prof.  Wach,  who,  it 
was  prophesied,  would  take  a  great  deal  of  interest  in 
me.  She  is  one  of  the  sweetest,  most  charming  little  women 
I  ever  saw,  very  pretty  and  gentle,  and  has  just  that  charm 
of  manner  that  made  her  father  so  beloved.  She  is  very 
like  him  in  face — and  also  exactly  like  someone  we  know 
very  well,  but  I  can't  think  whom.  I  sang  about  12  songs 
of  my  own  !  one  after  the  other  and  got  more  petting  even 
than  usual !  !  for  the  whole  company  was  musical  and  glad 
to  welcome  a  new  '  Collegin.'  Frau  Wach  was  too  nice 
and  begged  me  to  come  and  see  her  as  soon  as  ever  I  could, 
so  did  some  people  I've  been  dying  to  know  for  ages  but 
hadn't  met  before.  Brahms  stayed  with  them  when  he 
was  here.  Their  name  is  von  Herzogenberg.  She  is  quite 
lovely — a  great  musician — very  learned — a  daughter  of 
the  Hanoverian  Minister  in  Berlin,  Baron  Stockhausen. 
The  Tauchnitz  were  also  there,  and  the  Limburgers,  with 
whom  I  have  lately  become  very  intimate — and  where 
probably  my  string  quartett  will  be  played,  if  it  is  finished, 
before  Easter.  .  .  . 

The  children  of  this  house  are  very  ill  brought  up,  and 
the  second  day  of  my  arrival  the  second,  aged  four,  whose 
perseverance  and  straight  eye  cannot  be  too  highly 
commended,  threw  a  reel  of  cotton,  half  a  roll,  and  the 
handle  of  a  earthenware  teapot,  one  after  the  other,  at  my 
head,  despite  vehement  remonstrance  on  my  part  between 
each  volley.  Eventually  I  rushed  at  the  offender  and 
commenced  carrying  her  off  to  her  mama,  but  she  squalled 
so  fearfully  that  I  set  her  down  very  firmly  on  a  chair  and 
retired.  Since  then  the  infant  has  held  me  in  great  awe, 
but  I  heard  her  whispering  to  herself  the  other  day,  *  Das 
Fraulein  soil  Kinder  gar  nicht  gern  haben,  und  junge  Damen 
kann  ich  nicht  leiden  !  !  ' x)  I  nearly  burst  out  laughing — 
the  child  is  really  clever,  for  though  I  was  distinctly  meant 

1  They  say  the  Fraulein  doesn't  like  children — and  I  can't  bear  young 
ladies. 


234  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED 

to  hear  what  it  said,  it  looked  perfectly  unconcerned  as  if 
it  were  soliloquising  in  solitude  !!!... 

I  wish  you  could  see  me  dancing  now,  hopping  up  to 
the  ceiling,  arriving  on  the  tips  of  my  toes,  looking  well 
over  the  right  shoulder,  blowing  into  the  face  of  my  partner, 
and  receiving  in  exchange  many  a  blast  from  him — and 
above  all,  my  left  hand  not  laid  on  his  arm  but  curled 
elegantly  round,  fingers  inward,  as  if  a  photographer  had 
arranged  them !  !  Onward  I  fly,  backwards,  forwards, 
round  the  wrong  way,  and  am  considered  a  wonderful 
dancer  !  !  How  I  long  for  a  Mr.  Young  with  a  long,  shooting, 
easy  step  (like  Paddy's  trot  10  years  ago)  that  one  can  keep 
up  from  the  beginning  of  the  dance  to  the  end.  .  .  . 


(23) 

March,  '78. 

...  I  had  such  fun  the  other  day.  I  don't  know  when 
I  have  laughed  so  much.  There  was  a  little  soiree  at  the 
Brockhauses.  As  they  live  next  door  I  couldn't  well  get 
a  cab  (Salomon  St.  consists  of  large  detached  houses  with 
gardens)  but  it  was  pouring  weather  and  our  garden  was 
a  perfect  swamp.  So  what  do  you  think  I  did  ?  The 
children  here  have  a  very  large  perambulator  on  four 
wheels,  and  this  was  brought  down  from  the  loft.  How 
I  got  in  I  don't  know,  but  it  was  such  a  tight  fit  that  my 
knees  were  up  to  my  nose,  and  I  never  got  down  as  far  as 
the  seat  but  was  wedged  between  the  arms,  tight !  The 
whole  head  and  all  was  then  covered  with  a  waterproof 
and,  looking  more  like  clothes  coming  from  the  wash  than 
a  human  being,  I  was  trundled  along.  I  can't  tell  you 
how  nearly  I  was  upset,  as  naturally  I  was  too  heavy  to 
allow  of  the  Maedchen  handling  the  perambulator  as  they 
do  generally  (pressing  the  back  and  elevating  the  front 
wheels)  and,  with  the  four  wheels  to  contend  against, 
turning  corners  was  perilous  work.  Just  as  I  entered  the 
portico,  two  guests  arrived  on  foot  whom  I  knew  very  well 
and  who  could  not  make  out  who  or  what  I  was  !  One,  a 
pompous  old  Hof-Capellmeister,  nearly  collapsed  when 
I  emerged  gorgeous  in  black  and  silver  out  of  my  vehicle. 
Since  then  I  am  fearfully  chaffed  and  everyone  wants  to 
hire  the  '  droshky  von  Frl.  Smyth  !  ' 

By  the  bye,  did  I  tell  you  what  capital  luck  I've  had 
about  umbrellas  ?     I  (of  course)  lost  my  nice  new  silk  one 


IN  GERMANY  AND  ITALY 


235 


about  four  months  after  I  came  here — and  to  punish  myself 
bought  another  for  four  shillings,  which  I  condemned 
myself  to  carry  about  everywhere  and  which,  of  course, 
I  did  not  lose  !  Well,  one  day  I  found  in  my  room  a  very 
nice,  nearly  new,  umbrella,  mounted  on  a  polished  ash-plant 
— silk  of  course  !  Really,  I  have  made  most  conscientious 
enquiries  about  this  umbrella  and  it  belongs  to  no  one  ! 
and  I,  of  course,  have  appropriated  it !  Isn't  that  splendid  ? 
I  think  perhaps  it's  Henschel's  !  It  was  about  the  time 
of  his  visit  that  it  appeared  !  !  .  .  . 


(24) 

March  16,  1878. 

.  .  .  Clipsie  gives  me  blooming  accounts  of  my  lovely 
mother — says  you  looked  splendid  at  the  R.M.C.  ball  in 
grey  silk  and  white  lace  and  '  so  absurdly  young  ! '  When 
I  come  back  it  will  be  very  delightful  reproducing  the  old 
times — sailing  into  a  ball-room  with  you — though,  alas, 
I  shan't  know  enough  people  to  be  detained  one  instant 
in  the  ante-room.  .  .  . 

The  only  thing  I  object  to  here  is  the  disorder — the 
whole  thing  is  what  the  Germans  call  a  '  liederliche  Wirth- 
schaft ' *) — meals  unpunctual — often  too  much  salt  in  the 
bouillon — which  is  remarked  upon  every  day  but  nothing 
comes  of  it.  Then  if  a  curtain  gets  torn  it  strikes  no  one 
to  mend  it — you  know  the  sort  of  thing.  One  good  point 
about  our  new  landlord  is,  that  he  will  have  fresh  roast 
meat  every  day,  so  no  more  of  those  wonderful  stews  and 
messes  that,  being  in  Germany,  I  always  eat  and  now 
don't  object  to,  but  never  shall  like  !  ! 

...  I  think,  Mother  darling,  I  shall  be  able  to  pay  dress- 
makers' and  doctors'  bills  out  of  my  songs.  At  least 
I  shall  try.  If  the  money  doesn't  quite  cover  the  sum 
it  will  nearly.  Do  tell  Papa  that  as  for  the  boots,  really 
the  385.  is  economy  in  the  end.  The  other  pair  I  had  in 
December  1876  at  385.  are  only  just  done  for,  and  that 
through  the  skating  chiefly — for  those  Acme  skates  ruin 
boots  fearfully.  I  think  next  year  I'd  better  have  a  cheap 
pair  of  boots  made  here  specially  for  skating  at  I2S.  !  The 
buttoned  boots,  single  soled,  I  had  before  I  left  home  are 
still  like  new  and  look  lovely  ! 

Hugger-mugger. 


236  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED 

Now  that  the  spring  is  here  how  I  look  forward  to  being 
at  home  !  Coming  back  will  be  quite  unlike  anything 
else  I  ever  experienced — and  the  most  heavenly  thing  I 
have  done  in  my  life  as  yet — except  perhaps  when  I  began 
to  know  I  hadn't  come  here  in  vain. 

May  you  never  have  anything  so  fearfully  puzzling  and 
confusing  to  do  as  writing  your  first  string  quartet  t, 
Mother  darling  !  My  hair  is  growing  grey  over  it !  It 
will  be  finished  before  I  come  home — and  in  the  meantime 
do  look  up  4  performers  and  well  have  a  grand  chamber- 
music  performance  in  the  drawing  room  !  ...  I've  lost 
my  Counterpoint  book  and  without  it  am  as  Samson 
shorn  of  his  strength.  .  .  . 


(25) 

April  9,    78. 

...  I  am  still,  besides  other  work,  working  away  at 
those  songs  to  take  to  the  printers  to-morrow.  They  are 
pretty  sure  to  take  them  as  now  they  are  so  well  known 
here.  Whether  they  give  me  much  for  them  is  another 
question — or  indeed  anything  !  But  I  hope  so.  I  went  to 
a  musical  entertainment  yesterday  evening  at  the  mother 
of  Brahms's  other  great  friend  and,  in  spite  of  a  little  cough, 
did  a  great  deal  of  singing,  till  I  was  forcibly  removed 
from  the  piano  by  Frau  Brockhaus,  who  wouldn't  allow  me 
to  do  anything  more.  I  got  latish  to  bed  and  am  dead  tired 
to-day.  The  weather  is  so  horrid — it  snows  all  day  and  yet 
is  so  warm  that  only  about  two  inches  remain  on  the  ground, 
and  the  whole  place  is  a  perfect  mash  !  Yesterday,  knowing 
how  I  rave  about  Brahms,  the  daughter,  Frau  von  Bezold, 
sought  out  a  visiting  card  of  his  and  hid  it  under  the  card 
with  my  name  on  !  When  I  found  it,  they  hunted  up  a 
piece  of  narrow  pink  tape  to  match  my  ribbons,  and  tied 
it  round  my  neck  !  .  .  . 


(26) 

April,  1878. 

.  .  .  Just  imagine  what  a  goose  I  am.  I  went  to 
Breitkopf  and  Haertel — the  music  publishers  par  excellence 
in  the  world.  The  nephew,  who  conducts  the  business, 
Dr.  Hase,  I  know  very  well  and  he  is  quite  one  of  the  most 
charming  men  I  ever  met.  But  you  know  how  unpleasant 


IN  GERMANY  AND  ITALY  237 

it  is  to  do  business  with  a  personal  friend  !  Well,  he  began 
by  telling  me  that  songs  had  as  a  rule  a  bad  sale — but 
that  no  composeress  had  ever  succeeded,  barring  Frau 
Schumann  and  Fraulein  Mendelssohn,  whose  songs  had 
been  published  together  with  those  of  their  husband  and 
brother  respectively.  He  told  me  that  a  certain  Frau 
Lang  had  written  some  really  very  good  songs,  but  they 
had  no  sale.  I  played  him  mine,  many  of  which  he  had 
already  heard  me  perform  in  various  Leipzig  houses,  and 
he  expressed  himself  very  willing  to  take  the  risk  and  print 
them.  But  would  you  believe  it,  having  listened  to  all 
he  said  about  women  composers,  and  considering  how 
difficult  it  is  to  bargain  with  an  acquaintance,  I  asked 
no  fee  !  Did  you  ever  hear  of  such  a  donkey  !  I  should 
have  asked  £2  ios.,  which  would  have  dissolved  one  of 
the  dressmaker's  bills  !  So  if,  Mother  darling,  after  all  I 
have  to  come  down  on  you  for  that  bill  (which  I  still  hope 
not  to  do  !)  please  consider  it  the  price  of  my  modesty  !  .  .  . 


(27) 

Sunday,  April  7,  1878. 

...  I  think,  Mother  darling,  Frau  Dr.  would  be  very 
pleased  if  you  wrote  her  a  letter  thanking  her  for  her  good- 
ness to  me  and  mentioning  her  letting  me  come  for  a  few 
days  to  her  in  the  country.  Of  course  you  would  have 
written  anyhow,  but  probably  not  till  I  came  to  England. 
If  you  wrote  at  once  (very  clearly  !  !  but  in  English,  of 
course  !)  she'd  get  it  just  before  starting.  She  always  takes 
such  an  interest  in  my  home — and  you  specially — I  can't 
talk  to  her  too  much  about  you  all  and  my  home-life. 
With  most  people  one  feels  rather  shy  of  '  letting  out ' 

(as  F P would  say)  on  the  subject.  One  always  is 

afraid  of  boring  them — but  I  never  feel  that  with  her,  as 
I  know  that  the  more  I  tell  her,  the  better  she  is  pleased. 

My  newer  friends,  Baron  von  Herzogenberg  and  his 
fabulously  beautiful  wife  (with  a  bad  figure  !  the  Tauchnitzes 
and  Marie  Geistinger  are  the  only  people  in  Leipzig  with 
figures  !)  are  very  delightful.  They  hold  very  much  aloof 
from  Leipzig  society — partly  because  in  both  is  a  rooted 
dislike,  almost  amounting  to  a  horror,  of  dilettantism. 
She  is  absurdly  musical  and  though  she  doesn't  compose 
much  (only  songs),  is  the  first  feminine  musical  genius 
(bar  Frau  Schumann)  that  I  have  met.  I  suppose  the 


238  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED 

fact  that  Joachim,  Brahms,  and  Frau  Schumann  are  their 
most  intimate  friends  makes  them  so  severe  upon  un- 
thoroughness.  In  their  presence  I  feel  like  a  worm  !  .  .  . 
I  mean  because  I  write  sonatas  and  string  quartetts,  and, 
goodness  knows  what  all,  when  I  can't  do  a  proper  canon 
or  fugue  (or  indeed  strict  counterpoint  very  well).  I  have 
made  gigantic  progress,  but  not  thorough  progress.  I  have, 
in  fact,  made  the  tour  of  the  world  and  don't  know  my  own 
country  thoroughly  so  to  speak.  .  .  . 


(28) 

Passion  Week,  1878. 

.  .  .  The  day  before  yesterday  I  made  the  acquaintance 
of  a  composer  of  Schumann's  time,  of  whom  Schumann 
prophesied  almost  as  much  as  he  did  of  Brahms.  You 
see  in  the  one  case  the  prophecy  came  truer  than  in  the 
other,  for  Kirchner  never  composed  anything  great,  though 
his  little  things  are  beautiful.  I  used  to  play  some  of  them. 
Fraulein  Sitte  will  probably  know  his  Album  Blaetter  and 
Acquarellen.  He  is  exactly  like  Mr.  Ewing  !  As  his  life 
is,  to  a  certain  extent,  a  failure,  he  is  a  very  bitter,  intensely 
sardonic  man — almost  demoniacal.  He  spoke  much  of 
the  industry  of  the  English  in  the  Conservatorium— how 
nearly  all  the  ladies  composed  !  !  You  can  imagine  how 
pleasant  this  was  for  me  !  and  that  I  wasn't  much  disposed 
to  obey  his  command  (for  command  it  was)  to  play  to  him. 
When  I  had  done,  he  simply  growled  out :  '  Immer  weiter  ! 
Sie  duerfen  componiren  !  ' 1  People  say  this  is  fearfully 
much  for  Kirchner  !  After  that  he  was  most  friendly  and 
offered  to  see  me  home  and  goodness  knows  what !  .  .  . 


(29) 

End  of  April,  1878. 

...  I  had  such  a  glorious  time  at  Dresden  with  dear 
Frau  Doctor,  and  I  should  have  stayed  there  till  the  middle 
of  this  week  (when  she  returns)  were  it  not  for  a  concert 
given  by  the  Bach  Verein,  to  which,  as  you  know,  I  belong 
— and  as  the  alti  are  weak  and  I  can  make  a  pretty  good 
row  in  the  chest  notes  now,  back  I  came,  upon  the  summons 
of  the  beautiful  Frau  von  Herzogenberg. 

1  Go  on  !     You  may  compose  ! 


IN  GERMANY  AND  ITALY  239 

.  .  .  And  now  I  must  tell  you  all  about  my  adventures, 
looking  up  Julia  Finn.1  I  searched  out  the  name  in  the 
address  book,  found  it  in  a  not  very  nice  street  in  Dresden, 
and,  obtaining  leave  of  absence  from  my  hostess,  sallied 
forth  in  search  of  a  new  cousin.  I  was  shown  into  a  drawing 
room,  the  decorations  of  which  evidently  aimed  at  English 
style  (German  drawing  rooms  are  got  up  as  English  parlours 
at  the  seaside)  but  were  of  a  somewhat  gaudy,  cheap 
description.  Thought  I  to  myself,  '  Louie's  sister  has  not 
Louie's  taste '  and  awaited  with  anxiety  the  arrival  of 
Cousin  Julia.  My  dear  Mother,  imagine  my  feelings  when 
a  small,  dingy,  eminently  '  respectable '  person  entered 
and  asked  me  what  I  wanted  !  !  Having  previously  asked 
the  servant  if  Mrs.  Finn  was  English  and  having  received 
an  affirmative  answer — having  also  ascertained  that  there 
was  but  one  Finn  in  the  address  book — I  could  not  doubt 
but  this  was  my  cousin,  though  she  bore  no  resemblance 
to  Louie  !  !  I  advanced  timidly  and  said,  '  I  think  you 
must  be  my  cousin  Julia/  '  Oh/  answers  the  person, 
'  I  think  yer  must  be  makin'  a  mistake.  Yer  mean  my 
sister-in-law,  Miss  Durrant  as  was,  'oose  no  longer  in  the 
town — lives  in  Blasewitz  !  '  (a  village  about  3  miles  from 
Dresden).  I  was  rather  shocked  at  this  apparition,  who 
begged  me  to  wait  till  her  'usband  came  in.  Presently, 
an  equally  dingy  but  well-meaning  individual  in  black  came 
in  and  informed  me  that  '  Aunt  Julia '  had  removed  from 
Dresden  2  years  ago  and  that  if  I'd  like  to  see  her  he'd  be 
happy  enough  to  accompany  me  out  by  tramway.  The 
good  soul  (who  lectures  in  German  in  Dresden  and  of  whom 
I  hope  people  think  as  much  as  he  does  of  himself) 
accompanied  me  to  the  village  and  led  me  to  a  small  cottage, 
out  of  which  comes  a  stout,  not  so  very  ugly  lady,  greets 
him  with  a  kiss  and  Louie's  voice  to  Jth  of  a  tone,  and 
looks  politely  at  me  for  information.  I  said,  '  I  am  Ethel 
Smyth/  whereat  she  embraced  me  very  warmly  and  said, 
'  You  dear  child  !  I'm  so  glad  to  make  your  acquaintance/ 
just  as  Louie  would  have  said  it.  The  brother-in-law  said, 
'  Well,  I'm  not  wanted  'ere,  so  I'll  say  good-day/  and  we 
parted  on  the  best  of  terms,  and  I  think  he  is  a  capital 
old  fellow,  though  shaky  as  to  h's. 

She  carried  me  off  indoors,  made  me  stay  to  lunch  of 
course,  and  introduced  me  to  her  husband — a  dear  little 

1  This  was  a  first  cousin  of  my  mother  who  had  eloped  in  her  teens 
with  her  brother's  tutor. 


240  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED 

man,  also  shaky  as  to  h's,  but  much  '  finer/  as  the  Germans 
say,  than  his  brother.  I  think  I  had  never  pictured  any- 
one more  correctly  to  myself  than  I  pictured  her.  She 
is  very  stout,  has  lost  her  eyebrows  in  some  fever,  and  has 
corked  herself  rather  crooked  ones — otherwise  no  beautifica- 
tion,  and  a  nice  fresh  complexion.  Fringe  like  a  door  mat, 
also  over  the  ears,  so  the  effect  is  most  .  .  .  festive  !  On 
the  top,  a  brilliant  Paris  bonnet,  and  a  somewhat  violent 
yellowish  grey  cape  with  ostrich  feathers — this  when  she 
accompanied  me  home  ;  in  the  house  an  infuriated  looking 
mob  cap  crowns  the  edifice  of  brown  hair.  She  has  one 
awful  daughter  as  black  as  coal  and  very  Jewish  looking, 
with  an  unwholesome  looking  complexion,  and  one  jolly 
little  son  of  9.  Both  talk  English  with  a  strong  German 
accent  and  rather  stiffly,  and  are,  of  course,  at  home  in 
German.  I  can't  tell  you  how  hearty  and  jolly  she  was 
and  how  glad  she  seemed  to  see  me.  I  also  was  so  glad 
to  meet  with  a  relative  like  the  people  I  know  in  England — 
not  like  the  awful  Leipzig  English.  Her  voice  and  manner 
are  so  like  Louie's  that  I  had  a  queer  home-ish  feeling  when 
talking  to  her  that  I  have  not  had  since  I  left  England. 

I  don't  think  for  the  whole  3  hours  I  was  there  we 
spoke  of  Germany  or  the  present — but  entirely  of  the  past, 
and  all  about  you.  She  could  not  tire  of  telling  me  about 
you  and  the  old  times,  and  I  can't  tell  you  with  what  a 
feeling  I  listened.  She  is  the  first  person  I  ever  met,  with 
whom  I  had  time  to  talk  and  opportunity  of  talking  about 
you  when  you  were  young,  and  she  enjoyed  her  task  of 
narrator  as  thoroughly  as  I  did  mine  of  listener.  It  was 
all  about  you  at  Rackheath  and  Scottow — how  beautiful 
you  were — how  you  sang  as  no  one  else,  except,  perhaps, 
the  Lind — how  you  were  in  all  respects  just  her  beau  ideal 
(and  everyone  else's)  of  what  a  young  lady  should  be — of 
how  you  had  such  masses  of  adorers,  and  how  your  behaviour 
to  them  was  just  what  it  ought  to  have  been  !  She  said 
you  used  to  have  singing  days,  on  which  you  sang  up  and 
down  stairs  and  all  over  the  house,  and  that  she  had  (if 
all  this  is  true  you  will  know  better  than  I,  for  romancing 
runs  in  the  Stracey  blood,  doesn't  it  ?)  a  great  passion  for 
you  and  used  to  come  up  to  your  room  when  you  were 
dressing  for  dinner  and  fasten  on  your  bracelets — until 
one  day,  when  she  came  upon  you  and  Papa  in  a  certain 
room  of  which  she  showed  me  the  windows  in  a  photo  she 
has  of  Scottow  !  That  same  night,  she  says,  when  she 


IN  GERMANY  AND  ITALY  241 

was  helping  you  to  adorn,  she  said,  deeply  wounded  and 
jealous :  '  Really,  Cousin  Nina,  I  can't  think  how  you  can 
kiss  that  man  with  red  hair/  whereat  you  boxed  her  ears 
and  said,  '  How  dared  she  speak  so  of  your  future 
husband  !!!!!'  She  said  you  had  such  perfect  manners 
and  were  so  horrified  (as  indeed  is  to  be  expected)  at  some 
youth  who,  after  asking  you  to  take  wine  with  him,  shovelled 
up  peas  on  his  knife  !  She  also  related  -the  tale  of  your 
saying,  '  My  nose  is  like  a  torch  !  '  She  spoke  much  of  the 
trios  sung  by  you,  her  Mother  (about  whose  flute-like 
voice  she  raves — I  never  knew  Aunt  Julia  sang)  and  either 
Lady  Robinson  or  Mrs.  Burney-Petre.  .  .  .  Again,  I  say, 
the  pleasure  it  was  to  me  hearing  all  this  is  absolutely 
inexpressible,  so  much  so  that  I  don't  care  to  tell  you 
about  Dresden  and  the  glorious  (gaudy)  new  Theatre,  and 
the  splendid  performance  of  Schiller's  '  Wilhelm  Tell/ 
(The  Picture  Gallery  was  shut  for  cleaning  up  !  Such  a 
sell !)  If  I  go  again  at  Whitsuntide  I'm  of  course  to  look 
her  up.  She  told  me  to  tell  you  she  was  delighted  to  see 
me,  and  that  I  was  exactly  like  my  father,  only  your  eyes 
to  a  T  !  Whereat  I  demur,  first  of  all  my  eyes  are  not 
half  so  good  as  my  Mother's,  and,  secondly,  they  are  quite 
a  different  sort  of  eye  !  Yours  are  oval — mine  somewhat 
round !  They  all  accompanied  me  in  the  ferry  across 
the  Elbe  (Blasewitz  is  opposite  Loschwitz — the  village  the 
'  Berg '  is  in),  and  then  walked  with  me  till  we  got  to  the 
Berg.  I  was  awfully  pleased  with  her  and  very  curious 
to  hear  what  you  say  of  her  as  she  was  in  days  gone  by. 
She  seemed  rather  hurt  at  never  having  heard  of  you  till 
last  year,  but  said  she  supposed  that  comes  of  living  at 
Dresden.  .  .  . 

(30) 

[Note. — This  letter  was  written  by  and  dictated  to  List  who 
was  nursing  me.  Her  own  remarks  are  in  italics. — E.  5.] 

May  19,  1878. 

My  darling  Mother, — Don't  be  alarmed  at  seeing  a 
strange  handwriting — I'm  in  bed,  but  not  sick  '  unto  death/ 
my  nerves  have  been  rather  knocked  up  for  some  time  and 
now  my  unhappy  heart  has  to  bear  the  brunt  of  it.  I  have 
been  sent  to  bed  in  order  to  reduce  the  palpitation  and 
here  may  have  to  stay  for  a  day  or  two  longer,  in  all  about 
a  week.  Don't  think,  Mother  darling,  that  I  have  been 

VOL.  I.  R 


242  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED 

left  entirely  on  my  own  hook.  I  have  been  nursed  during 
this  week  as  well  as  I  ever  was  in  my  life,  both  night  and 
day,  but  as  the  instrument  of  my  recovery  happens  to  be 
writing  this  for  me,  I  will  tell  you  all  about  it  when  I  can 
write  to  you  myself.  The  poor  amanuensis  is  suffering 
severely  from  writing  the  accompanying !  And  now,  please 
Mother,  listen  attentively  to  what's  coming.  .  .  . 

[N.B. — Here  follows  a  long  account  of  my  illness  and  of 
the  restrictions  to  be  observed  in  England.} 

Well,  that's  about  all.  It  only  remains  to  tell  you 
not  to  be  anxious  about  me.  You'll  find  me  looking  as 
well  as  ever,  and,  alas,  as  inclined  to  gather  the  rosebuds 
while  I  may  as  of  yore.  I  am  fairly  on  the  road  to  recovery 
and  will  get  up  to-morrow. 

Ever  your  devoted  child, 

ETHEL. 

Amanuensis  cannot  help  saying  that  she  enjoyed  nursing 
your  dear,  dear  child  so  very  much  ;  also  she  must  assure 
you  that  you  have  not  the  least  occasion  more  to  be  discomforted 
about  Ethel. 

[P.S.  privately  added  by  me.] 

Mother  darling, — The  person  who  has  written  my  letter 
to  you  and  nursed  me  all  through  this  illness  more  like  a 
mother  than  anyone  else  is  Frau  von  Herzogenberg.  What 
she  has  been  to  me  I  can't  tell  you  and  I  have  known  her 
hardly  three  months.  It's  queer  that  Frau  Dr.  isn't  nursing 
me — but  she  is  so  good  about  it.  I  daren't  write  more, 
it's  forbidden  me.  I  can't  now  tell  you  all  she's  done 
for  me  !  ! 


(31) 

May  27,  1878. 

...  At  last  I  am  up  and  able  to  write  to  you  with 
my  own  hand,  but  just  fancy,  with  pauses  about  every 
three  minutes,  as  writing  brings  on  the  attacks  more  than 
anything  almost.  ...  I  have  at  last  seen  the  absolute 
necessity  of  acquiescing  in  the  matter  of  my  modus  vivendi 
during  the  holidays  and  have  signed  a  paper  of  rules  the 
doctor  prescribes  for  me.  Imagine — no  lawn  tennis,  no 
riding,  no  dancing,  nothing  !  !  This  to  me,  who  have  all 
this  year  been  looking  forward  to  plunging  with  renewed 


IN  GERMANY  AND  ITALY  243 

vigour  into  the  old  life  for  a  little  bit,  and  have  been 
glorying  in  the  feeling  that  I  could  face  the  holly  hedge 
on  the  green,  or  an  adversary  at  lawn  tennis  without 
fear — that  after  I  had  been  a  week  in  home  air  the  old 
Adam  would  be  fully  re-established  in  me  !  Still  it  is 
true  that  is  nothing  against  a  life-time — and  I  know  it 
must  be  !  ... 

I  am  much  disgusted  that  I  shall  have  to  hurry  over  an 
important  matter,  i.e.,  choosing  the  souvenirs  of  Leipzig 
for  the  folks  at  home.  I  meant  to  have  spent  a  whole  month 
in  looking  about,  and  now  probably  the  matter  must  be 
got  over  in  a  day  or  two.  Such  is  life.  Also  I  meant  to 
have  spent  the  fortnight  previous  to  my  departure  in 
practising  up  various  of  my  perfectly  unplayable  com- 
positions to  (I  hope  !)  delight  the  maternal  ear.  Instead 
of  which  I  am  not  allowed  to  touch  a  piano,  and  as  I  can't 
help  it  when  it  stands  there,  the  Doctor  says  better  send 
it  away  !  !  So,  Mother  darling,  you  must  put  up  with 
them  as  they  are — in  rough — and  when  you  hear  them 
listen  to  the  composition,  not  the  performance  of  the 
same  !  I  can't  realise  that  I  shall  see  you  all  again  so 
soon.  It  is  almost  too  good  to  be  true,  that  is  to  say  if 
it  comes  off.  Fancy  if  Mary  is  still  there,  which  I  hope 
she  will  be  !  . 


(32) 

Friday  Night,  June  7,  1878. 

...  I  will  send  on  your  note  to  Frau  v.  H.,  who  is  far 
away  in  Bohemia  and  will  be  so  glad  to  have  it.  She 
was  always  saying — specially  while  cooking  something 
for  me — '  What  fun  it  would  be  if  your  Mother  were  to 
walk  in  suddenly,  except  that  I  fear  I  should  not  be  here 
in  her  place  then  !  '  which  she  certainly  would  not  have 
been. 

...  Oh  !  Mother  I  hope  the  rules  may  be  a  little 
relaxed.  But  the  worst  of  it  is  I  have  promised  my  dear 
German  Doctor  on  my  word  of  honour,  signed  a  paper  to 
that  effect  which  I  must  show  you  when  I  get  home,  and 
unless  he  absolves  me  I  fear  I  can't  relax !  But  we  will 
see  and  I  will  hope  on.  Otherwise  I  often  suddenly  burst 
out  into  vehement  howling  at  the  bare  idea  of  it,  as  I  know 
my  year's  devotion  to  the  Muses  has  not  affected  my  love 


244 


IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED 


for  field  sports,  to  which  I  know  I  have  just  as  much  natural 
bent  as  to  music.     I'll  jump  over  the  lawn  tennis  net  for 

Captain  S 's   benefit  once  more  before  I  leave  home 

again  ! 

...  Do  tell  Miss  Sitte  that  when  I  am  in  England  I 
shall  be  so  glad  to  have  her  to  remind  me  of  dear,  dear 
Germany,  and  I  hope  she  will  let  me  talk  German  with  her 
sometimes,  that  I  may  not  quite  forget  it  when  there,  though 
I  know  what  a  trial  it  is  to  have  foreigners  talking  one's 
own  language  with  one,  when  one  is  perfect  mistress  of  the 
language  of  the  country  one  is  in.  Though  not  perfect 
mistress  of  German  by  any  means  I  can  of  course  talk  it 
as  fast  as  I  like,  and  nothing  annoys  me  so  intensely  as 
when  people  insist  upon  talking  bad  English  with  me  in 
Germany.  Still  perhaps  Frl.  Sitte  will  talk  German  with 
me  out  of  good-nature. 


FROM  ELISABETH  VON  HERZOGENBERG  ('  LISL  ') 

[Note.  —  These  early  letters  of  List's  are  given  mainly  to 
show  the  key  in  which  our  friendship  started  ;  what  I  may 
call  the  real  letters,  written  when  we  came  to  know  each  other 
thoroughly,  will  be  found  later.  As  she  often  lapses  into 
English  I  put  '  in  English  '  when  I  am  transcribing,  and 
'  in  German  '  when  translating.  She  once  said  she  knew  her 
English  style  was  a  blend  of  baby-language  and  Dr.  Johnson, 
and  often  she  uses  it  with  comic  intention  ;  at  other  times  the 
comic  effect  is  involuntary.] 


Schloss  Wernsdorf,  Bohemia  :   May  27,  1878. 

(In  German.)  My  dear,  dear  Ethel,  —  I  hope  you  have 
got  my  two  greetings,  one  written  in  Leipzig,  another 
from  Aussee,  so  that  you  hadn't  to  wait  as  long  as  you 
expected  for  a  line  from  me.  I  cannot  forgive  myself 
for  causing  you  so  much  agitation  the  last  day  ;  any  good 
I  may  have  done  seems  to  me  nullified  by  this  last  action  ! 
But  I  know  you  won't  agree,  and  that  your  loving  heart 
magnifies  what  I  did  for  you  and  underestimates  the  delight 


IN  GERMANY  AND  ITALY  245 

it  was  to  me  doing  it.  Surely  one  would  have  no  heart 
in  one's  bosom  were  it  not  among  the  intensest  of  pleasures 
to  be  able  to  help  someone  dear  to  you  ;  to  begin  with,  how 
soothing  to  one's  vanity  to  find  oneself  so  important,  so 
longed  for  !  ... 

Ethel,  I  won't  make  myself  out  worse  than  I  am,  but 
really  the  last  14  days  were  such  a  delight,  gave  me  so 
much  pleasure,  that  I  often  felt  quite  dishonorable  in 
calmly  pocketing,  as  if  I  deserved  them,  the  thanks  that 
poured  so  generously  from  your  mouth.  Don't  go  on 
thanking  me  but  let  us  both  thank  Fate  that  meant  so  well 
by  us  on  that  memorable  birthday  of  Dr.  Paul's  !  I  confess 
I  do  not  look  upon  it  as  a  misfortune  that  you  became 
so  ill,  that  is  to  say  that  you  had  this  acute  attack  ;  firstly 
because  I  don't  think  you  would  otherwise  have  been  as 
careful  as  you  will  be  now,  secondly  because  I  doubt  if 
we  should  ever  have  got  where  we  are  now  but  for  those 
14  days. 

(In  English.)  After  to-morrow  I  hope  to  receive  the 
first  bulletin,  and  perhaps — more  and  dearer  to  me — the 
first  lines  from  your  own  little  hand.  My  darling,  did  the 
horrid  men  come  already  to  take  away  the  piano  ?  and  are 
you  growing  daily  pale  and  paler  from  obligatory  Askese  ? x 
And  do  you  very  much  long  after  all  you  have  not,  poor 
little  ill-treated,  though  tenderly  loved  child  ?  And  what 
does  Dr.  Langbein  say  about  the  term  of  your  departure, 
and  will  Miss  Nancy  be  sure  to  wait  till  you  can  start  safely 
without  an  etiquette  sticking  on  your  back  bearing  the 
word  '  fragile  '  ?  Write  to  me  soon,  dearest ! 

I  am  not  quite  here  yet.  I  never  feel  comfortable 
at  first ;  I  can't  get  accustomed  to  Heinrich's  sister — so 
unlike  to  him,  the  Graces  not  having  attended  her  cradle  ; 
without  the  touch  of  tenderness  without  which  it  is  so 
difficult  to  me  to  think  of  a  woman.  Good,  courageous, 
upright,  and  all  that,  but  very  matter  of  fact.  I  like  the 
children  and  the  170  sheep  here  best,  also  a  large  good 
Newfoundland  dog  with  quite  a  way  to  remind  one  of  some 
of  Longfellow's  nice  little  poems — Open  Window  and  that 
sort.  He  has  such  a  wonderful  condescending  way  of 
looking  on  the  children  when  they  play  with  him.  Of 
course  he  feels  his  superiority.  They  have  a  bird  here  in 
a  cage  hanging  in  a  tree  in  the  garden — think  what  a 

1  Self-denial. 


246  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED 

cruelty ! — that  reminds  me  of  a  certain  poor  little 
Euphorion 1  when  in  a  short  time  it  will  be  at  home,  looking 
on  with  folded  arms  when  the  others  play  lawn  tennis  ! 
I  really  do  feel  how  cruel  we  are,  Langbein  and  I,  and  yet 
how  necessary  our  cruelty  is. 

Good-bye  and  my  blessing  to  you,  my  darling.  I  won't 
write  again  till  I  have  a  letter  from  you.  My  love  to  Miss 
Nancy ;  it  is  such  a  comfort  to  me  to  know  you  are  to 
journey  together.  Tell  her  how  I  confide  in  her.  Take 
care  of  my  little  Ethel  for  the  sake  of  your  mother. 

LISL. 

P.S. — I  don't  want  B to  know  yet  that  we  call 

each  other  '  du  '  ;  yet  how  should  she  unless  you  leave 
letters  about  ?  And  I  even  ask  myself  if  it  is  not  a  pity 
for  others  to  know,  and  perhaps  make  inward  remarks 
or  smile — oh  !  or  to  ask  if  one  .  .  .  but  in  fact  what  do 
I  care  ?  I  have  forgotten  how  to  call  Ethel '  Sie  ' ! 


May  29,  1878. 

(In  English.)  Here  is  my  song.  Now  don't  be  thinking 
I  do  not  know  that  the  doubled  leading-note  on  the  second 
page,  first  bar  ('  fallt,  ihr  dunen  Blatter ')  is,  in  fact,  false 
and  nasty,  and  an  unclean  matter  altogether  unworthy 
the  wife  of  Aloysius 2 ;  but  in  spite  of  that  I  can't  help 
finding  it  expressive,  and  that  it  gives  the  touch  of  a  certain 
harshness  that  I  want  there  ;  for  which  reason  Aloysius 
has  graciously  permitted  it  as  what  the  Catholics  call  a 
'  lassige  Siinde  !  ' 3  Poor  little  song  it  appears  to  me, 
when  I  see  it  black  on  white,  so  poor  and  meagre  and  childish  ! 
and  still  I  have  a  kind  of  tenderness  for  it ;  also  because  I 
played  it  to  my  husband  long  before  he  was  my  husband, 
in  March  '67,  when  I  saw  him  for  the  last  time  before  the 
time  from  which  I  began  a  new  reckoning.  And  he  wanted 
a  copy  of  it,  which  of  course  I  never  gave  him,  laced  up  in 
the  Spanish  boots  of  conventional  holding-back  as  poor 
Lisl  was  at  that  time  !  There  my  darling — deal  kindly 
with  it — this  is  all  I  can  do  for  my  child  to-day.  Henry 

1  Child  of  Faust  and  Helen  of  Troy  (in  Part  II  of  Goethe's  Faust],  who 
came  to  grief  through  wilfulness  and  daring  :  a  nickname  of  Lisl's  for 
myself. 

*  A  nickname  she  gave  her  husband.  3  Venial  sin. 


IN  GERMANY  AND  ITALY  247 

sends  you  his  love,  a  special  message.  He  likes  you  very 
much.  .  .  .  My  Aunt  Wullerstorf  is  a  dear  aunt  but  oh  ! 
such  an  exciteable  one.  How  can  people  be  so  un-calm  ? 
.  .  .  But  I  love  her  dearly.  .  .  . 


(3) 

May  31,  1878. 

(In  German.)  ...  I  must  just  tell  you  an  absurd  dream 
I  had,  which  however  will  show  you  where  my  thoughts 
are  at  night.  I  was  spending  the  evening  with  the  Rontgens, 
but  Johanna  was  not  there,  and  I  said  to  myself  :  '  Of 
course  she's  looking  after  Ethel.'  We  were  to  make  music 
and  I  was  to  play  2nd  violin  in  a  Beethoven  Quartett  (to 
which  apparently  I  was  quite  accustomed)  but  they  gave 
me  a  shockingly  written  MS.  part — all  wrong  too — so  that 
presently  Papa  Rontgen  lost  patience  and  stopped.  I 
apologised  profusely  but  said  the  part  was  really  disgraceful, 
and  also  nearly  illegible,  owing  to  the  masses  of  blotting-sand 
on  it  which  made  it  look  like  a  cutlet  fried  in  breadcrumbs. 
(Observe  this  dreadful  irruption  of  cooking  into  music, — 
picture  of  my  unfortunate  Sphinx-nature !)  Thereupon 
Johanna  came  in  and  I  rushed  at  her  and  asked  after  Ethel. 
'  Ethel  is  not  at  all  well  and  must  probably  stay  in  bed 
to-morrow  too.'  And  I  :  '  How  is  that  ?  What  have  you 
been  up  to  ?  '  Then  Johanna  drew  forth  a  long  list  with 
all  her  crimes  written  on  it,  and  confessed  that  the  worst 
one  was  meeting  Aunt  Wullerstorf  in  the  street  and  taking 
her  to  see  Ethel.  '  What !  '  I  cried  out,  '  that  exciteable 
aunt  ?  that  aunt  who  never,  never  is  allowed  to  go  near  a 
sick  person  ?  I  must  go  to  Ethel  at  once  ' — and  I  rushed 
away  in  terrible  agitation,  and  woke  up  still  quite  upset 
by  the  dream.  Dear  good  Johanna  must  not  be  angry 
with  me  !  it  is  all  because  she  was  so  remorseful  one  day  for 
having  gone  to  see  you  in  the  Salomonstrasse  at  a  time  when 
visitors  were  forbidden  !  . 


(4) 

June  2,  1878. 

(In  German)  .  .  .  Don't  write  long  letters  ;  it's  bad  for 
you  and  I  can't  write  at  length  myself  here.     The  Minuet 


248  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED 

form  is  best  suited  to  us  just  now — ist  Part :  16  bars ; 
2nd  Part :  16  bars  ;  a  little  Trio  ;  repeat  the  Minuet 
and  add  a  nice  little  Coda  for  the  special  edification  of 

YOUR  MOTHER. 


(5) 

June  9,  1878. 

(In  German.)  .  .  .  Don't  feel  like  that  about  returning 
to  England.  In  a  way  I  myself  feel  as  if  we  were  '  drifting 
farther  and  farther  from  each  other/  but  that  cannot 
change  the  fact  that  we  love  one  another,  that  I  '  had  you  ' 
when  I  was  n,  and  shall  have  you  till  I'm  80 — and  that's 
such  a  good  feeling  !  .  .  .  My  child,  I  wonder  sometimes 
at  the  different  ways  Fate  spins  the  thread  which  binds 
people  together — how  it  often  takes  years  to  enter  into 
possession,  and  how  in  our  case  something  has  grown 
between  us  that  tells  me  we  belong  together,  inseparably  ! 
...  To  think  how  I  hung  back  at  first !  I  didn't  know  you 
and  am  in  principle  against  new  friendships  ;  then  too 
there  was  a  feeling  of  unfaithfulness  towards  other  people 
whom  I  knew  better  than  you.  I  thought  I  was  merely 
attracted  by  little  ways  that  appealed  to  me,  and  said 
to  myself  :  *  You  must  look  closely  and  weigh  well.'  .  .  . 
And  now,  there  you  are,  little  tree,  grown  into  my  heart 
with  such  deep  roots  that  nothing  can  ever  tear  them  out ! 
And  I  gladly  own  to  myself  that  things  are  thus,  because 
I  have  studied  you  so  closely  and  believe  I  know  you  so 
thoroughly  !  .  .  .  (In  English.)  Yes,  I  have  been  photo- 
graphed by  the  best  man  in  Vienna,  and  I  think  in  all  four 
positions  I'll  have  a  big  nose,  for  the  atelier  was  hot  which 
always  produces  big  noses.  But  you  should  not  be  photo- 
graphed again.  I  will  not  have  you  become  a  waister — 
or  do  you  say  spendthrift  ?  (have  I  hit  the  word  now  ?) 
and  would  hold  you  a  sermon  but  that  I  feel  very  week 
and  touched  and  melting  away  like  butter  in  the  sun. 
I  am  frightened  of  the  temptations  at  your  home — no 
riding,  no  tennis,  a  Pilgrim's  Progress  indeed — and  anxious 
to  hear  how  you  pass  through  the  tests,  poor  little  Pamina, 
quite  alone  without  a  Tamino  to  help  you — only  the  Magic 
Flute  of  your  affection  for  me,  and  Music,  that  dear  consoler, 
as  sole  support !  I  don't  like  your  beginning  by  those 
races  !  Of  course  your  fanatic  passion  for  horses  must 
have  the  effect  to  excite  you  when  you  look  on  at  such 


IN  GERMANY  AND  ITALY  249 

racings,  that  in  themselves  are  so  exciting ;  and  really  it 
isn't  necessary,  now  is  it  ?  You  can  show  off  your  new 
little  hat  (for  two  pounds)  when  you  make  your  calls  of 
arrival  (?  Antritts-Visiten  I  mean).  Darling  don't  be  angry, 
I  know  you  don't  care  about  all  that  stuff,  and  prefer  sitting 
at  home,  since  you  cannot  play  tennis,  at  your  writing 
table  and  your  piano,  but  the  kind  mother  will  of  course 
try  to  make  show  of  her  daughter,  and  in  this  respect  you 
will,  I  believe,  have  the  hardest  battles  to  fight.  .  .  . 


CHAPTER  XXII 

SUMMER  1878 

THE  journey  to  England  via  Rotterdam  and  Harwich, 
punctuated  by  postcards  and  telegrams  to  and  from  Lisl 
at  every  available  stage,  is  chiefly  memorable  as  the  most 
appalling  of  all  my  many  Channel  crossings.  Nancy  and  I 
shared  a  cabin  and  her  sufferings  were  terrific  ;  but  just 
when  I  was  beginning  to  reflect  with  alarm  that  people 
have  been  known  to  die  under  these  circumstances,  a  calm 
voice  below  me  remarked  :  '  I  think  the  horrors  of  sea- 
sickness are  much  exaggerated/  My  father  met  us  at 
Harwich,  and  we  started  for  our  respective  homes  by  a 
line  built  apparently  on  the  switch-back  principle — my 
first  experience  of  this  detestable  effect  of  a  rough  sea 
voyage. 

What  a  wonderful  return  home  it  was  !  Invalid  and 
incipient  '  Phoenix,'  as  mother  persisted  in  calling  me 
sometimes,  I  was  spoiled  to  my  heart's  content,  the  children, 
whom  I  called  my  white  slaves,  fetching  and  carrying  for 
me,  and  even  lacing  up  my  boots.  The  glamour  of  home, 
which  even  at  Leipzig  had  never  paled,  seemed  positively 
dazzling  ;  how  well  I  remember  the  flavour  of  it  all — the 
incredible  youth  and  jollity  of  the  young  ones,  the  loving- 
ness  of  mother,  the  beloved  dogs  and  horses  !  I  had  not 
expected  much  cordiality  from  my  father  towards  an  un- 
repentant and  apparently  justified  rebel,  but  the  fact  that 
my  allowance  had  not  been  exceeded  by  one  penny,  together 
with  the  less  important  one  of  countless  testimonials  to 
my  seriousness  of  purpose,  went  a  long  way,  and  I  found 
the  life  I  had  chosen  was  an  accepted  fact. 

But  presently,  when  the  novelty  wore  off,  I  began  to 

250 


1878  IN  GERMANY  AND  ITALY  251 

review  the  situation  with  dismay.  My  Leipzig  doctor  had 
drawn  up  a  document  which  might  have  been  headed  by 
the  word  dear  among  all  others  to  the  German  heart, 
'  Verboten,'  for  it  was  a  list  of  forbidden  joys  that  included, 
with  the  exception  of  work  (which  was  permitted  in  modera- 
tion), all  the  things  I  loved  best,  namely  tennis,  riding,  and 
dancing.  I  had  shed  what  seemed  to  Lisl  inconceivably 
childish  tears  over  this  document,  but  solemnly  signed  it, 
as  did  she  and  Dr.  Langbein.  Hardly  had  I  been  ten  days 
at  home,  however,  when  all  the  worst  symptoms  disap- 
peared by  magic,  and  I  began  to  kick  against  the  pricks. 
The  matter  was  complicated  by  a  rather  comic  infusion 
of  jealousy.  No  one  ever  rejoiced  at  heart  more  unselfishly 
than  my  mother  at  any  kindness  shown  to  her  children,  and 
for  Lisl's  love  and  care  of  me  (as  previously  for  Frau 
Doctor's)  she  was  deeply  and  touchingly  grateful.  Never- 
theless when  it  came  to  my  life  at  home  being  regulated 
by  far-off  strangers,  when  her  wondering  ears  heard  me 
refusing  even  to  handle  a  racquet  for  fear  of  temptation, 
although  it  was  plain  to  sensible  English  judgment  that 
there  was  no  longer  any  reason  why  I  should  not  play,  this 
was  more  than  her  philosophy  could  bear  ;  and  I  cannot 
help  thinking  that  when  she  suggested  I  should  see  Sir 
William  Jenner  and  be  formally  released  from  my  promises, 
her  motives  may  have  been  more  complex  than  appeared. 
There  was  a  very  funny  incident  a  week  or  two  later, 
when,  just  to  see  if  my  eye  was  still  in,  and  standing  firmly 
rooted  to  one  spot,  I  made  my  sisters  serve  to  me,  my 
mother,  unknown  to  us,  watching  the  proceedings  from 
her  bedroom  window.  At  luncheon  she  remarked  with 
obvious  satisfaction  :  *  I  see  you  have  begun  tennis  again 
in  spite  of  Frau  von  Herzogenberg/  whereupon  I  angrily 
declared  it  was  not  so,  and  that  taking  a  serve  or  two  was 
not  playing  tennis — to  which  she  rejoined  that  it  seemed 
to  her  uncommonly  like  it.  In  short  there  was  such  a 
scene  that,  much  to  my  surprise,  Papa  suddenly  broke  in 
with  :  '  You  don't  understand  the  game  ;  she  says  she  was 
not  playing  and  there's  an  end  of  it.'  And  as  usual  when 
he  intervened  she  gave  in  at  once.  Eventually,  in  spite 
of  impassioned  remonstrance  from  Lisl,  including  the 


252  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED  1878 

quotation  of  many  a  slighting  remark  I  had  rashly  made 
at  Leipzig  about  English  doctors,  all  embargoes  were 
removed,  and  the  day  came  when  I  joyfully  informed  her, 
whom  the  news  left  more  than  indifferent,  that  my  game 
was  as  good  as  ever,  in  fact  better. 

To  the  end  I  never  succeeded  in  making  her  grasp  what 
games  and  sport  mean  to  people  of  our  race  ;  that  side 
of  life  seemed  to  her  trivial,  or  at  least  unworthy  the 
passionate  interest  of  a  budding  artist.  When  I  had  told 
her  in  my  sick  room  that  the  family  were  requested  never 
to  mention  hunting  in  their  letters,  because  the  very  word 
drove  me  wild  with  longing,  I  remember  her  amazed  look 
as  she  said  :  '  My  dear  child,  you  must  surely  be  mad  ! ' 
And  though  she  eventually  learned  to  accept  these  aberra- 
tions with  philosophy,  they  belonged  in  the  large  category 
of  '  things  in  you  I  shall  never  understand.' 

That  summer  a  ridiculous  sequel  to  one  of  my  Leipzig 
adventures  took  place.  When  I  had  parted  some  months 
before  on  terms  of  grateful  but  strictly  platonic  affection 
from  the  kind  young  man  who  had  conducted  the  sale  of 
'  grandeurs  '  in  the  famous  libel  case,  we  had  settled  that 
he  should  come  and  see  me  in  my  own  home,  which  he  did. 
But  what  was  my  astonishment  when,  in  the  course  of  a 
ride  together,  it  became  clear  that  he  had  construed  this 
invitation  into  an  encouragement  to  persevere  in  his  suit ! 
I  don't  think  I  have  ever  been  more  angry  ;  from  the  first 
I  had  seen  he  was  in  earnest,  and  whoever  I  had  flirted  with 
it  certainly  was  not  with  him  ;  consequently  my  diatribes 
concerning  male  fatuousness  and  vanity — none  the  less 
stunning  for  being  shouted  over  my  shoulder  at  full 
gallop — seemed  to  me  amply  justified.  He  was  deeply 
hurt,  and  we  parted  with  stiffness  on  both  sides. 

I  did  a  certain  amount  of  what  I  regret  to  say  was 
referred  to  in  letters  to  Lisl  as  '  that  horrid  counterpoint/ 
and  knew  she  was  similarly  employed.  But  under  what 
ideal  circumstances  !  Ensconced  peacefully  in  a  mountain 
district,  with  her  Aloysius,  as  we  called  him,  at  her  elbow, 
(Aloysiusbeinga  Jesuit  noble  of  the  Middle  Ages  who  forsook 
the  world  for  higher  things  and  was  eventually  canonised) 


1878  IN  GERMANY  AND  ITALY  253 

naturally  she  made  rapid  progress ;  whereas  the  exercises 
I  sent  from  time  to  time,  including  those  on  the  bird-call 
I  quoted,  were  far  from  satisfactory  and  few  in  number, 
the  blame  of  course  being  laid  by  both  of  them  on  balls, 
tennis,  and  general  frivolity.  One  letter  of  remonstrance 
apparently  made  me  '  howl/  and  altogether  caused  such 
despair  that  Aloysius  himself  felt  moved  to  write  and 
administer  consolation.  But  our  whole  early  correspond- 
ence testifies  to  the  grave,  beneficent  influence  exercised 
by  Lisl.1 

On  one  thing  I  had  set  my  heart,  to  give  my  mother 
one  great  musical  pleasure,  and  eventually  decided  on  a 
home-production  of  the  Liebeslieder  Walzes.  I  beat  up 
in  the  neighbourhood  and  at  Aldershot  four  people  with 
ears,  voices,  and  feelings,  into  whom  it  was  possible  to 
drum  the  vocal  parts,  and  a  really  musical  Russian  woman 
to  help  in  the  Piano  Duet  accompaniment.  It  was  like 
teaching  parrots,  but  the  result  was  an  excellent  perform- 
ance— in  Mrs.  Longman's  opinion  as  good  as  anything  you 
could  hear  in  London,  and  it  may  be  remembered  that 
she  was  considered  an  authority.  Later  on  I  went  to  stay 
with  Alice  and  Mary,  and  actually  pulled  off  the  same 
feat  in  Edinburgh  with  new  performers  and  equal  success. 

Lisl,  who  was  seeing  a  good  deal  of  Brahms  just  then, 
told  him  all  about  this  propaganda  work  of  mine  and  all 
about  me,  which  of  course  filled  me  with  mingled  terror 
and  delight.  She  informed  me  too  that  he  was  in  his 
best  mood — '  treats  me  so  kindly,  as  a  dear,  big  Newfound- 
land dog  treats  a  little  King  Charles/  and  since  I  may 
have  uncomplimentary  things  to  say  about  Brahms  by  and 
by,  it  will  be  a  pleasure  to  quote  later  on  some  very  warm 
tributes  she  pays  him,  to  which  I  heartily  subscribe.2  She 
generally  used  English  in  the  lighter  parts  of  her  letters, 
German  in  the  others,  and  aware  of  my  own  recklessness 
as  to  leaving  correspondence  about,  as  also  of  my  mother's 
jealousy,  I  had  begged  her  to  '  tell  me  '  in  English  and 
'  speak  to  me  '  in  German.  I  even  went  farther.  By 
way  of  discouraging  requests  to  let  mother  see  one  of 
my  friend's  letters  I  once  threw  a  wholly  German  one  on 

1  Appendix  III.,  ii.  p.  17,  Nos.  2,  7, 12  et  seq.          2  Appendix,  ii.  p.  21. 


254  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED  1878 

to  her  lap,  saying  :  '  do  read  this,  it's  so  amusing/  As 
I  expected,  the  caligraphy  defeated  her,  and  I  was  asked 
to  read  it  aloud  instead,  which  I  did — with  omissions. 

Meanwhile,  as  the  summer  went  on,  the  old  feeling  ot 
the  staleness  and  pointlessness  of  home  life  came  back, 
and  with  it  a  furious  longing  for  Leipzig  and  my  new 
friends,  to  cheat  which  I  warmed  up  a  few  former 
enthusiasms.  .  .  .  (Lisl's  first  intimation  of  what  was  to  be 
a  perennial  subject  of  dispute  between  us,  my  insatiable 
appetite  for  humanity.)  About  this  time,  too,  the  after- 
math of  enlarging  Frimhurst  was  beginning  to  be  reaped. 
My  father  announced  that  we  had  for  some  time  been 
exceeding  our  income,  but  it  seemed  impossible  to  work 
up  zeal  for  a  whole-hearted  scheme  of  retrenchment.  This 
theme  was  the  source  of  constant  and  fruitless  sparring, 
and  of  course  the  old  friction  between  me  and  my  mother 
began  again,  with  the  very  natural  element  of  soreness 
as  to  foreign  influence  thrown  in. 

Again,  though  I  was  no  longer  exactly  a  black  sheep 
in  my  father's  eyes,  he  seemed  to  me  wilfully  antagonistic, 
and  I  wrote  miserably  to  Lisl  that  I  was  becoming  wicked 
at  home — hard  and  rebellious  ;  that  I  never  should  learn 
self-control  and  that  there  was  '  a  perfect  devil  in  my 
heart  that  sleeps  only  at  Leipzig.'  In  fact  I  could  hardly 
await  the  end  of  the  holidays,  particularly  as  I  had  finished 
a  bit  of  work  that  I  felt  certain  would  please  Aloysius 
better  than  my  counterpoint,  namely  '  Variations  on  an 
Original  Theme,'  one  of  the  variations  being  inspired  by, 
and  named  after,  the  filly  I  had  broken.  Mercifully,  as 
in  the  old  days,  the  friction  between  me  and  my  mother 
was  presently  forgotten  in  her  perfect  appreciation  of  this 
early  effort  and  my  consequent  delight  in  the  depth  of  her 
musical  instinct  !  I  remember  flinging  my  arms  round 
her  and  saying,  '  You  are  more  musical  than  all  my  friends 
put  together,'  which  in  a  sense  was  perfectly  true.  Thus, 
at  the  end  of  September,  in  a  glow  of  restored  affection  and 
harmony,  I  left  for  Germany,  this  time  being  allowed 
without  remonstrance  to  travel  under  my  own  wing. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

AUTUMN  AND  WINTER  1878 

DURING  the  previous  winter  I  had  met  one  of  Brahms's 
oldest  friends,  a  deeply  musical  and  most  unprofessorial 
Saxon  named  Engelmann,  who  nevertheless  held  a  Pro- 
fessorship at  the  University  of  Utrecht,  and  whose  wife, 
originally  a  professional  pianiste,  was  said  to  be  one  of  the 
finest  artists  alive.  Both  of  them  were  old  friends,  too,  of 
the  Herzogenbergs,  and  as  he  had  suggested  my  coming 
to  see  them  on  my  way  back  to  Leipzig  I  did  so,  and  spent 
an  enchanting  week,  sight-seeing  and  music-making. 

Off  the  music  stool  my  hostess  was  a  pleasant,  childlike, 
not  very  interesting  little  person,  who  seemed  to  spend 
most  of  her  time  laughing  at  nothing  in  particular  ;  at  the 
piano  the  whole  woman  changed,  and  you  were  in  presence 
of  a  grave,  inspired,  passion-wrought  pythoness.  Her 
husband  was  an  admirable  cellist,  and  in  that  house  I 
heard,  among  other  things,  the  Brahms  Piano  Quartetts, 
the  Quintett,  and  the  Horn  Trio  as  I  shall  never  hear  them 
again.  We  were  quite  among  ourselves,  except  for  Julius 
Rontgen  who  came  over  from  Amsterdam  to  see  me,  and 
incidentally  played  viola.  In  a  couple  of  days  Frau' 
Engelmann  knew  my  Variations  by  heart,  and  I  learned 
what  one's  compositions  can  become  in  the  hands  of  a 
great  artist. 

This  was  my  first  visit  to  Holland  ;  I  was  shown  many 
beautiful  things,  among  them  the  desolate  Dead  Towns 
on  the  Zuyder  Zee,  where  strange,  unfriendly  fishermen  in 
fantastic  costumes,  with  long,  straight,  coal-black  locks 
hanging  into  their  eyes,  squat  all  day  in  the  streets,  glaring 
hatred  at  intrusive  strangers.  I  remember  too  how  we 

255 


256  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED  1878 

scorned  a  very  smart  Amsterdam  bankeress,  who  strutted 
about  the  deck  of  the  steamer  in  brown  boots,  the  first 
any  of  us  had  seen.  We  thought  them  ridiculous  and 
unpleasantly  '  auffallend,'  x  and  so  apparently  did  the  other 
people  on  the  boat. 

Two  days  later  I  was  back  in  Leipzig.  Driving 
straight  to  the  Humboldt  Strasse,  where  the  Herzogenbergs 
lived,  I  appeared  unexpectedly  in  their  flat  just  as  they 
had  sat  down  to  breakfast,  and  noticed  that  Lisl  turned 
ashen — the  effect,  as  I  then  learned,  of  any  surprise,  whether 
pleasant  or  the  reverse.  I  remember  that  the  spectre  of 
her  dread  infirmity  rose  before  me  for  a  moment,  to  vanish 
in  the  three-part  counterpoint  of  our  Wiedersehen.  They 
overwhelmed  me  with  congratulations  on  my  stalwart, 
healthful,  sun-browned  appearance,  for  of  course  they  had 
never  seen  me  in  my  normal  country-life  condition  and 
found  me  almost  unrecognisable.  My  toilette  had  been 
performed  in  the  train,  my  luggage  left  at  the  station,  and 
under  my  arm  was  a  parcel,  the  contents  of  which  would, 
I  hoped,  banish  all  recollection  of  contrapuntal  failures. 
And  so  it  turned  out ;  the  Variations  pleased  them  as  much 
as  they  had  the  Engelmanns,  and  far  from  being  taken 
tragically,  as  I  had  half  expected,  the  '  Filly  '  variation 
was  considered  one  of  the  best  of  the  bunch.  Then  a  new 
Brahms  Motett,  of  which  she  had  spoken  in  a  letter,2  was 
played  to  me,  followed  by  some  new  work  of  Heinrich's, 
till,  about  half  an  hour  before  the  midday  meal,  Lisl  dis- 
appeared to  see  to  something  in  the  kitchen,  while  he 
examined  and  discussed  the  Variations  in  detail.  And 
when,  after  one  of  the  admirably  cooked  meals  which  were 
the  secret  pride  of  that  little  household,  we  arrived  at  the 
sweet  stage,  what  did  I  see  but  the  '  Siisse  Speise  '  I  love 
best  in  the  world,  the  dish  which  to  this  day  I  cannot 
perceive  advancing  in  my  direction  or  mentioned  on  a 
menu  without  emotion  .  .  .  meringues — called  at  Frimhurst 
and  throughout  English  kitchens  '  marrangs  '  !  I  had  once 
written  from  home  that  whatever  the  differences  between 
my  mother  and  myself  we  were  of  one  mind  on  that  subject, 

1  Conspicuous,  2  Appendix,  ii.  p.  21. 


1878  IN  GERMANY  AND  ITALY  257 

and  Lisl  had  determined  to  show  me  what  the  hands  that 
had  just  been  delicately  disentangling  and  re-combining 
the  ingredients  of  a  Motett  in  I  forget  how  many  parts 
could  do  with  eggs  and  sugar— for  the  meringues  were  her 
handiwork,  cases  and  all.  Not  too  sweet,  not  too  sticky 
(which  however  is  better  than  too  powdery),  the  cream 
neither  over  solid  nor  yet  whipped  into  fluff,  in  a  word, 
and  without  hyperbole,  masterpieces  !  .  .  . 

After  dinner,  for  Germans  dined  then  at  midday,  I 
collected  my  luggage,  and  Lisl  and  I  drove  off  to  the 
Salomonstrasse.  The  old  house  was  transmogrified  ;  the 
stairs  had  been  mended,  the  walls  re-papered,  and  the 
whole  place  looked  fresher  and  cleaner  than  one  would 
have  believed  possible.  The  windows  of  my  new  rooms 
faced  south-west,  looking  over  fruit-trees  and  acacias,  and  I 
suppose  never  was  young  musician  more  ideally  and  cheaply 
lodged.  By  the  next  day  I  had  rigged  up  a  grand  trophy, 
consisting  of  racquets,  skates,  fox-brushes,  a  hunting- 
crop,  and  my  long  boot-hooks,  which  roused  the  admira- 
tion of  my  landlady's  children — a  well-brought-up  set  of 
youngsters  this  time,  who  all  started  a  discreet  '  Schwar- 
merei '  for  me.  Frau  Merseburger,  their  mother,  was  a 
jolly,  buxom,  pleasant-faced  woman,  of  about  thirty-five, 
with  a  dried-up,  immensely  polite  little  husband  anywhere 
between  fifty-five  and  seventy.  Publisher  and  bookseller 
on  a  very  small  scale,  the  strong  line  of  the  firm  was  school 
books,  and  gaudily  got  up  little  volumes  of  very  minor 
lyrics  which  reminded  me  of  my  great-uncle  the  Professor's 
effusions.  He  gave  me  one  or  two  of  these  in  case  I  should 
feel  tempted  to  set  extracts  to  music,  and  I  then  wondered, 
as  always,  how  stuff  on  that  level  manages  to  get  into  print 
at  all.  The  only  other  lodger  was  a  big,  shy  man  of  about 
forty  with  a  huge  fair  beard  and  spectacles.  He  had  a 
room  on  the  ground-floor,  mine  being  on  the  second,  and 
contrived  by  deft  dartings  in  and  out  of  the  house,  and 
cautious  tactics  in  passages,  to  be  as  good  as  invisible. 
I  noticed  that  Frau  Merseburger  was  rather  embarrassed 
and  apologetic  about  this  lodger,  why  I  could  not  imagine, 
but  as  she  married  him  when  old  Merseburger  died  a  few 
years  later,  I  have  since  hazarded  a  guess. 

VOL.    I.  S 


258  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED  1878 

As  I  said,  I  supped  in  my  own  room,  but  on  a  few  grand 
occasions,  Herr  Merseburger's  birthday  and  so  on,  I  was 
invited  down  below,  the  other  lodger  occasionally  being 
present  too.  Once  we  were  favoured  with  the  company  of 
a  nephew  of  my  landlord's,  stoker  or  something  of  the  sort 
on  an  ocean  tramp,  who  was  reported  to  have  cruised  a 
good  deal  in  Chinese  waters,  on  the  strength  of  which  he 
gave  us  an  exhibition  of  Chinese  singing  and  dancing — a 
very  odd  performance  that  worked  his  uncle  up  into  a  frenzy 
of  senile  delight.  After  a  glass  or  two  of  sweet  champagne 
on  the  top  of  beer  and  Rhine  wine,  the  old  gentleman  used 
invariably  to  do  two  things — first  quote  Goethe,  and  then, 
a  little  later  on,  begin  pinching  his  wife.  She  would  laugh, 
get  very  red,  and  say  '  Aber  Mannchen  !  .  .  .  benimm 
dich  doch  ! '  ('  but  .  .  .  little  husband  !  .  .  .  behave  thy- 
self ') ;  meanwhile  the  lodger  sat  unmoved,  and  Frau  Merse- 
burger's deprecating  glances  and  giggles  were  addressed 
not  to  him  but  to  me.  It  was  a  very  harmless  display,  but 
next  morning  there  would  be  a  touch  of  apology  in  the  old 
man's  polite  hopes  that  the  feast  had  agreed  with  me  (for 
this  is  the  form  such  compliments  take  in  Germany)  and 
I  imagined  a  Curtain  Lecture  had  been  administered. 
Such  was  the  family  on  whom  the  comfort  of  my  daily  life 
depended,  and  who,  I  may  add,  took  any  amount  of  trouble 
to  ensure  it.  Not  only  for  this  reason,  but  for  others  which 
can  be  imagined  after  reading  the  above,  I  never  think  of 
the  Merseburgers  without  a  little  gush  of  friendliness  and 
amusement. 

From  now  onwards  I  became,  and  remained  for  seven 
years,  a  semi-detached  member  of  the  Herzogenberg  family ; 
wherever  they  were  bidden  I  was  bidden  too  ;  not  a  day 
passed  but  that  one  or  other  of  my  meals  TTas  taken  with 
them  ;  and  though  like  horses  I  have  always  preferred 
getting  back  for  the  night  to  my  own  stable,  the  little 
spare  room,  stocked  for  my  needs,  was  always  ready  when 
required.  And  after  I  was  in  bed  Lisl  would  come  in, 
comb  and  brush  in  hand,  her  hair  streaming  over  a  white 
dressing-gown — '  all  in  white  and  gold  '  as  I  put  it  in  my 
youthful  enthusiasm — to  make  sure  I  had  everything  I 


1878  IN  GERMANY  AND  ITALY  259 

needed.  Daily  I  became  more  conscious  of  the  fineness 
and  strength  of  her  personality — qualities  which  those 
who  care  to  read  such  letters  of  hers  as  I  give  will,  I  think, 
feel,  notwithstanding  the  inadequacies  of  translation. 

But  on  one  point  I  want  to  lay  special  stress,  because 
in  the  years  to  come,  when  it  militated  so  terribly  against 
me,  I  tried  to  remember  it  had  once  been  my  chief  delight ; 
I  mean  a  certain  strong  simplicity  of  soul  that  reminded 
me  of  the  Elgin  marbles,  something  at  once  womanly  and 
incorruptible  that  suggested  possible  limitations  but  had 
a  subtle  majesty  of  which  not  even  the  greatest  degree  of 
intimacy  dulled  my  perception.  Witchery,  an  un-Greek 
element  perhaps,  was  supposed  to  be  her  chief  characteristic, 
and  certainly  her  dear  lovely  person  carried  out  that  idea 
more  than  the  other.  Nevertheless  had  the  Venus  of  Milo 
been  a  mortal,  I  think  the  large,  quiet  motions  of  her  spirit 
would  have  been  like  Lisl's,  except  for  two  traits  that  may 
have  been  lacking  in  the  goddess  ;  a  curious  most  touching 
humility,  lurking,  unnoticed  by  most  people,  at  the  bottom 
of  her  soul,  and  a  lovingness  that  had  the  sweetness  of  ripe, 
perfect  fruit,  and  which  no  one  but  her  husband  and  I 
knew  in  its  fullness.  When  I  add  that  Herzogenberg  was 
on  far  too  big  lines  to  begrudge  her  a  semblance  of  what 
nature  had  withheld — or  me  the  blessing  of  her  tender 
mothering  love — it  will  be  allowed  that  the  foundation  of 
our  friendship  seemed  well  and  truly  laid. 

In  musical  matters  Lisl  and  I  saw  absolutely  eye  to 
eye,  and  it  was  a  strange  intoxicating  thing  to  realise  that 
in  moments  of  musical  ecstasy  the  heart  of  the  being  on 
earth  you  loved  best  was  so  absolutely  at  one  with  yours 
that  it  might  have  been  the  same  heart.  I  think  I  was 
always  more  critical  than  either  of  them  as  regards  weak 
spots  in  Brahms,  or  even  the  older  classics,  and  was  never 
able,  as  they  were,  to  admire  every  single  page  Bach  ever 
wrote,  including  his  5  finger  exercises.  No  doubt,  too,  the 
catholicity  of  taste  I  acquired  in  after  life  would  have 
shocked  them,  but  that  day  had  not  yet  dawned.  Mean- 
while Lisl  and  I  plodded  away  at  our  counterpoint  in 
friendly  rivalry,  and  used  sometimes  to  wonder  whether 
Brahms,  given  a  '  cantus  firmus  '  to  work  in  four  parts, 


260  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED  1878 

would  turn  out  anything  so  very  much  better  than  our 
productions.  Herzogenberg  was  a  splendid  teacher,  but 
though  my  industry  and  zeal  left  nothing  to  be  desired, 
quite  the  reverse,  he  told  me  I  wasn't  really  a  good  pupil— -- 
which  I  suppose  any  master  would  say  of  a  beginner  who 
always  claims  to  know  best ! 

I  won't  speak  of  a  very  thrilling  unforgettable  event, 
Frau  Schumann's  Jubilee,  which  took  place  that  winter, 
nor  of  my  riding  adventures,  including  the  most  fantastic 
hunt  I  ever  took  part  in,  because  these  events  are  described 
elsewhere.1  Of  course  I  spent  Christmas  with  the  Her- 
zogenbergs,  and  the  table  round  my  little  tree  was  paved 
with  miniature  scores  of  Beethoven  quartetts,  from  Op.  59 
onwards.  Brahms  remarked  that  for  the  present '  the  child ' 
ought  to  confine  herself  to  studying  Op.  18 — a  symptom 
of  paternal  interest  which  almost  melted  Lisl  to  tears,  but 
rather  affronted  '  the  child.' 

By  and  by,  borne  along  by  Papa  Rontgen's  teaching 
enthusiasm,  and  despite  hands  ill  adapted  to  the  instru- 
ment, I  began  learning  the  violin,  and  eventually  became 
equal  to  taking  second  violin  in  easy  quartetts.  The 
lessons  were  arranged  to  include  the  excellent  sit-down 
Rontgen  tea — blessed  cry  of  his  Dutch  blood — and  after 
tea  he  taught  me  chess.  I  got  so  passionately  attached 
to  the  game,  though  a  very  poor  player,  that  eventually 
it  had  to  be  given  up,  otherwise  I  should  have  spent  my 
life  doing  nothing  else. 

1  Appendix  III,  ii.  p.  35,  Nos.  i  and  2 ;  p.  37,  No.  3. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

BRAHMS 

EARLY  in  1879,  I  think  some  time  in  January,  Brahms 
came  to  Leipzig  to  conduct  his  Violin  Concerto — played 
of  course  by  Joachim,  who  had  just  been  introducing  it 
at  Amsterdam,  and  was  much  upset  at  having  to  tune 
down  his  ears  again  to  normal  pitch,  after  having  learned, 
as  he  said,  to  play  it  apparently  in  D#  major  in  Holland — 
a  hard  feat !  I  understood  then  why  pitch  always  has  a 
tendency  to  rise,  for,  wedded  as  Joachim  was  to  orthodoxy 
in  all  things,  I  nevertheless  caught  a  few  remarks  about 
'  increased  brilliancy/  and  so  on.  That  Concerto,  which 
has  never  been  among  my  favourite  Brahms  works,  may 
for  aught  I  know  be  child's  play  to  students  nowadays  ; 
at  that  time  however  the  technique  was  unfamiliar  and 
not  considered  favourable  to  the  instrument.  Wags  called 
it  '  Concerto  against  (instead  of  for)  the  Violin/  But  I 
fancy  my  musical  sensibility  was  blurred  in  the  wild  excite- 
ment of  at  last  getting  to  know  the  great  man  himself. 
During  the  following  years  I  saw  a  good  deal  of  him,  on 
and  off,  and  here  follows  the  summing-up  of  my  impressions 
for  what  they  are  worth. 

Some  people,  I  believe,  have  youthful  enthusiasms, 
even  in  their  own  branch  of  art,  that  wane  as  years  go 
on,  but  I  can  remember  no  musical  recantations.  A 
favourable  judgment  seems  to  me  to  imply  a  satisfied 
need  ;  you  may  have  many  needs,  but  why  should  one 
interfere  with  the  other  ?  Why,  when  you  come  to  know 
and  admire,  say,  Anatole  France,  should  you  delight  less 
in  someone  at  the  opposite  pole,  for  instance  Dickens  ? 
From  the  very  first  I  had  worshipped  Brahms's  music,  as 

261 


262  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED  1879 

I  do  some  of  it  now;  hence  was  predisposed  to  admire 
the  man.  But  without  exactly  disliking  him,  his  person- 
ality neither  impressed  nor  attracted  me,  and  I  never 
could  understand  why  the  faithful  had  such  an  exalted 
opinion  of  his  intellect.  Rather  taciturn  and  jerky  as  a 
rule,  and  notoriously  difficult  to  carry  on  a  conversation 
with,  after  meals  his  mind  and  tongue  unstiffened ;  and 
then,  under  the  stimulus  of  countless  cups  of  very  strong 
black  coffee,  he  was  ready  to  discuss  literature,  art,  politics, 
morals,  or  anything  under  the  sun.  On  such  occasions, 
though  he  never  said  anything  stupid,  I  cannot  recall 
hearing  him  say  anything  very  striking,  and  when  his 
latest  pronouncement  on  Bismarck,  poetry,  or  even  music 
was  ecstatically  handed  round,  it  generally  seemed  to 
me  what  anyone  might  have  said. 

Once  only  do  I  remember  his  taking  an  exceptional 
line.  A  portrait  of  the  old  Kaiser  by  Lenbach,  recently 
exhibited  at  the  Museum,  had  aroused  such  a  storm  of 
indignation  that  it  was  withdrawn,  and  I  believe  ended 
by  being  '  verboten  '  as  far  as  public  galleries  were  con- 
cerned. The  reason  was  that  whereas  all  other  portraits 
of  Wilhelm  I.  represented  a  martial-looking  veteran  of 
about  sixty,  of  whom  the  Press  stated  that  he  swung 
himself  on  to  his  horse  without  the  aid  of  a  mounting 
block,  Lenbach  had  painted  a  very  tired  old  man  of  eighty- 
four,  with  pale,  flabby  cheeks,  and  sunken,  lack-lustre  eyes 
— in  short  the  fine  old  wreck  he  was,  of  whom  it  was 
whispered  that,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  he  had  to  be  lifted 
on  to  his  horse  in  the  recesses  of  the  stable  yard  in  order 
to  make  his  daily  appearance  in  the  Thiergarten.  The 
picture  was  infinitely  .pathetic  and  even  beautiful ;  so,  it 
seemed  to  me,  was  the  idea  of  the  old  warrior  determined 
to  sally  forth  as  long  as  he  could  sit  on  a  horse's  back, 
no  matter  how  he  got  there.  But  the  people  who  manu- 
facture public  opinion  in  Germany  saw  in  this  record  of 
human  decay  something  detrimental  to  monarchical  pres- 
tige, some  going  so  far  as  to  declare  the  picture  should 
be  publicly  destroyed  and  the  painter  arraigned  for  Use 
majeste — in  short  the  incident  opened  one's  eyes  to  the 
gulf  that  lies  between  German  and  Anglo-Saxon  mentality. 


i879  IN  GERMANY  AND  ITALY  263 

There  was  a  minority  of  another  way  of  thinking,  but 
these  kept  pretty  quiet,  and  I  was  delighted  to  find  that 
Brahms,  who  always  had  the  courage  of  his  opinions  and 
truckled  to  no  one,  thought  the  whole  outcry  preposterous, 
and  said  so. 

I  think  what  chiefly  angered  me  was  his  views  on 
women,  which  after  all  were  the  views  prevalent  in 
Germany,  only  I  had  not  realised  the  fact,  having  imagined 
'  mein  Mann  sagt '  was  a  local  peculiarity.  Relics  of 
this  form  of  barbarism  still  linger  in  England,  but  as 
voiced  by  a  people  gone  mad  on  logic,  worshippers  of 
brute  force,  and  who  visualise  certain  facts  with  the  hard 
stare  of  eyes  devoid  of  eyelashes,  these  theories  would,  I 
fancy,  repel  even  our  own  reactionaries.  George  III, 
himself  a  German,  might  have  subscribed  150  years  ago 
to  William  II 's  famous  axiom  about  women  being  out  of 
place  anywhere  except  in  the  kitchen,  nursery,  and  church, 
but  you  often  heard  it  quoted  with  complete  assent  by 
German  women  themselves  in  my  day. 

Brahms,  as  artist  and  bachelor,  was  free  to  adopt 
what  may  be  called  the  poetical  variant  of  the  '  Kinder, 
Kirche,  Kuche '  axiom,  namely  that  women  are  play- 
things. He  made  one  or  two  exceptions,  as  such  men 
will,  and  chief  among  these  was  Lisl,  to  whom  his  attitude 
was  perfect  .  .  .  reverential,  admiring,  and  affectionate, 
without  a  tinge  of  amorousness.  Being,  like  most  artists, 
greedy,  it  specially  melted  him  that  she  was  such  a  splendid 
Hausfrau  ;  indeed  as  often  as  not,  from  love  of  the  best, 
she  would  do  her  own  marketing.  During  Brahms's  visits 
she  was  never  happier  than  when  concocting  some  exquisite 
dish  to  set  before  the  king ;  like  a  glorified  Frau  Rontgen 
she  would  come  in,  flushed  with  stooping  over  the  range, 
her  golden  hair  wavier  than  ever  from  the  heat,  and  cry  : 
'  Begin  that  movement  again  ;  that  much  you  owe  me  !  ' 
and  Brahms's  worship  would  flame  up  in  unison  with  the 
blaze  in  the  kitchen.  In  short  he  was  adorable  with 
Lisl. 

In  his  relations  with  her  husband,  who  completely 
effaced  himself  as  musician  in  the  master's  presence,  he 
took  pains  to  be  appreciative,  but  could  not  disguise  the 


264  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED  1879 

fact  that  Herzogenberg's  compositions  did  not  greatly  interest 
him.  Once  when  he  had  been  in  a  bad  temper  and  rather 
cruel  about  them,  Lisl  rated  him  and  wept,  and  Brahms 
kissed  her  hand  and  nearly  wept  too,  and  it  appears  there 
was  a  most  touching  scene  ;  but  the  thing  rankled  in  her 
bosom  for  a  long  time. 

To  see  him  with  Lili  Wach,  Frau  Schumann  and  her 
daughters,  or  other  links  with  his  great  predecessors  was 
to  see  him  at  his  best,  so  gentle  and  respectful  was  his 
bearing ;  in  fact  to  Frau  Schumann  he  behaved  as  might 
a  particularly  delightful  old-world  son.  I  remember  a 
most  funny  conversation  between  them  as  to  why  the  theme 
of  his  D  major  Piano  Variations  had  what  she  called  '  an 
unnecessary  bar  tacked  on/  this  being  one  of  the  supreme 
touches  in  that  wonderful,  soaring  tune.  She  argued  the 
point  lovingly,  but  as  ever  with  some  heat,  and  I  thought 
him  divinely  patient. 

His  ways  with  other  women-folk — or  to  use  the  detest- 
able word  for  ever  on  his  lips,  '  Weibsbilder ' — were  less 
admirable.  If  they  did  not  appeal  to  him  he  was  incredibly 
awkward  and  ungracious ;  if  they  were  pretty  he  had  an 
unpleasant  way  of  leaning  back  in  his  chair,  pouting  out 
his  lips,  stroking  his  moustache,  and  staring  at  them  as  a 
greedy  boy  stares  at  jam- tartlets.  People  used  to  think 
this  rather  delightful,  specially  hailing  it,  too,  as  a  sign  that 
the  great  man  was  in  high  good-humour,  but  it  angered 
me,  as  did  also  his  jokes  about  women,  and  his  everlasting 
gibes  at  any,  excepting  Lisl  of  course,  who  possessed  brains 
or  indeed  ideas  of  any  kind.  I  used  to  complain  fiercely 
to  her  about  this,  but  her  secret  feeling  was,  I  expect,  that 
of  many  Anti-Suffragist  women  I  have  known,  who,  for 
some  reason  or  other  on  the  pinnacle  of  man's  favour  them- 
selves, had  no  objection  to  the  rest  of  womenkind  being  held 
in  contempt — the  attitude  of  Fatima  the  Pride  of  the 
Harem.  To  be  fair  to  Lisl  I  never  heard  her  express 
definite  sentiments  on  the  subject,  about  which  I  had  never 
thought  myself,  but  as  she  was  of  her  epoch  and  intensely 
German,  her  instinct  was  probably  that  of  Fatima. 

A  delightful  trait  in  Brahms  was  his  horror  of  being 
lionised.  He  had  a  strong  prejudice  against  England 


i879  IN  GERMANY  AND  ITALY  265 

which  he  would  jocularly  insist  on  for  my  benefit,  but  what 
chiefly  prevented  his  going  there  was  dread  of  our  hero- 
worshipping  faculties  :  '  I  know  how  you  went  on  with 
Mendelssohn/  he  said.  What  with  their  own  embarrass- 
ment and  his  total  lack  of  ease — or,  as  the  Italians  put  it, 
lack  of  education — ordinary  mortals  who  humbly  tried  to 
convey  to  him  their  admiration  for  his  music  had  rather 
a  bad  time.  The  only  person  who  sailed  gaily  through 
such  troubled  waters  was  Consul  Limburger,  but  this  again 
did  not  please  Brahms  and  outraged  the  elect.  After 
some  performance,  Limburger  once  remarked  in  his  airy 
way  :  *  Really,  Herr  Doctor,  I  don't  know  where  you  mean 
to  take  us  in  the  slow  movement,  whether  to  Heaven  or 
Hell !  '  and  Brahms  replied  with  a  mock  bow  :  '  Whichever 
you  please,  Herr  Consul/  which  was  quoted  as  a  brilliant 
piece  of  repartee  that  ought  to  have  crushed  the  audacious 
Limburger.  But  one  retort  of  his  was  really  rather  good. 
The  first  subject  in  one  of  his  Chamber  works  is  almost 
identical  with  a  theme  of  Mendelssohn's,  and  when  some 
would-be  connoisseur  eagerly  pointed  out  the  fact,  Brahms 
remarked  :  '  Ganz  richtig — und  jeder  Schafskopf  merkt's 
leider  sofort !  '  ('  Quite  so — and  the  worst  of  it  is  every 
blockhead  notices  it  directly/) 

I  am  bound  to  say  his  taste  in  jokes  sometimes  left  much 
to  be  desired,  and  can  give  an  instance  on  the  subject  of 
my  own  name,  which  all  foreigners  find  difficult,  and  which, 
as  I  innocently  told  him,  my  washerwoman  pronounced 
'  Schmeiss/  Now  the  verb  '  schmeissen/  to  throw  violently, 
is  vulgar  but  quite  harmless  ;  there  is  however  an  antique 
noun,  '  Schmeiss/  which  means  something  unmentionable, 
and  a  certain  horrible  fly  which  frequents  horrible  places 
is  called  '  Schmeiss- Fliege/  As  Brahms  was  for  ever  com- 
menting on  the  extreme  rapidity  of  my  movements  he 
found  the  play  upon  words  irresistible  and  nicknamed  me 
'  die  Schmeiss-Fliege/  but  Lisl  was  so  scandalised  at  this 
joke  that  he  had  to  drop  it. 

Among  his  admirers  it  was  the  fashion  to  despise  Wagner, 
but  to  this  he  demurred,  and  a  remark  he  often  made 
'  His  imitators  are  monkeys  (Affen)  but  the  man  himself  has 
something  to  say  '  was  cited  as  proof  of  his  noble,  generous 


266  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED  1879 

disposition.  People  like  Joachim  and  Herzogenberg  con- 
sidered Wagner  a  colossal  joke,  and  I  remember  their  relating 
how  as  a  sort  of  penance  they  sat  through  a  whole  act  of 
'  Siegfried/  keeping  up  each  other's  spirits  by  exchanging 
a  '  Good  morning '  whenever  a  certain  chord,  let  us  say 
a  diminished  ninth,  occurred  in  the  score — a  very  provoking 
pleasantry  even  to  hear  about. 

I  like  best  to  think  of  Brahms  at  the  piano,  playing 
his  own  compositions  or  Bach's  mighty  organ  fugues, 
sometimes  accompanying  himself  with  a  sort  of  muffled 
roar,  as  of  Titans  stirred  to  sympathy  in  the  bowels  of 
the  earth.  The  veins  in  his  forehead  stood  out,  his 
wonderful  bright  blue  eyes  became  veiled,  and  he  seemed 
the  incarnation  of  the  restrained  power  in  which  his  own 
work  is  forged.  For  his  playing  was  never  noisy,  and 
when  lifting  a  submerged  theme  out  of  a  tangle  of  music 
he  used  jokingly  to  ask  us  to  admire  the  gentle  sonority 
of  his  '  tenor  thumb/ 

One  of  his  finest  characteristics  was  his  attitude  towards 
the  great  dead  in  his  own  art.  He  knew  his  own  worth — 
what  great  creator  does  not  ? — but  in  his  heart  he  was 
one  of  the  most  profoundly  modest  men  I  ever  met,  and 
to  hear  himself  classed  with  such  as  Beethoven  and  Bach, 
to  hear  his  C  minor  Symphony  called  '  The  Tenth  Sym- 
phony/ 1  jarred  and  outraged  him.  Once,  when  he  turned 
up  to  rehearse  some  work  of  his,  Reinecke  had  not  yet 
finished  rehearsing  one  of  Mozart's  symphonies — I  forget 
which — and  after  the  slow  movement  he  murmured  some- 
thing to  Lisl  that  I  did  not  catch.  She  afterwards  told 
me  he  had  said :  '  I'd  give  all  my  stuff  (Kram)  to  have 
written  that  one  Andante ! ' 

Among  desultory  remarks  of  his  which  remained  in 
my  mind,  I  remember  his  saying  that  he  had  given  up 
predicting  what  a  young  composer's  development  would 
be,  having  so  often  found  that  those  he  thought  talented 
came  to  nothing  and  vice  versa  ;  and  in  this  connection  he 
pointed  out  that  all  the  work  of  Gluck's  that  still  lives 
was  written  after  he  was  fifty.  I  have  never  looked  up 

1  The  implication  was  that  it  equalled,  or  surpassed,  Beethoven's 
Ninth  Symphony. 


i879  IN  GERMANY  AND  ITALY  267 

Gluck  in  a  Lexicon  to  see  if  this  opinion  would  still  hold 
good. 

To  me  personally  he  was  very  kind  and  fatherly  in  his 
awkward  way,  chiefly,  no  doubt,  because  of  the  place  I 
held  in  his  friend's  heart ;  but  after  a  very  slight 
acquaintance  I  guessed  he  would  never  take  a  woman- 
writer  seriously,  and  had  no  desire,  though  kindly  urged 
by  him  to  do  so,  to  show  him  my  work.  At  last  one 
day,  without  asking  my  leave,  Lisl  showed  him  a  little 
fugue  of  mine,  and  when  I  came  in  and  found  them  looking 
at  it  he  began  analysing  it,  simply,  gravely,  and  appre- 
ciatively, saying  this  development  was  good,  that  modu- 
lation curious,  and  so  on.  Carried  away  by  surprise  and 
delight  I  lost  my  head,  and  pointing  out  a  constructive 
detail  that  had  greatly  fussed  Herzogenberg — the  sort  of 
thing  that  made  him  call  me  a  bad  pupil — asked  eagerly  : 
'  Don't  you  think  if  I  feel  it  that  way  I  have  a  right  to 
end  on  the  dominant  ?  '  Suddenly  the  scene  changed, 
back  came  the  ironic  smile,  and  stroking  his  moustache 
he  said  in  a  voice  charged  with  kindly  contempt :  '  I  am 
quite  sure,  dear  child,  you  may  end  when  and  where  you 
please  !  '  .  .  .  There  it  was  !  he  had  suddenly  remembered 
I  was  a  girl,  to  take  whom  seriously  was  beneath  a  man's 
dignity,  and  the  quality  of  the  work,  which  had  I  been 
an  obscure  male  he  would  have  upheld  against  anyone, 
simply  passed  from  his  mind. 

Now  let  us  suppose  a  publisher  had  been  present — 
and  they  swarmed  at  the  Herzogenbergs — what  would 
have  been  the  effect  of  this  little  scene  on  a  budding 
inclination  to  print  for  me  later  on  ?  And  does  the  public 
realise  that  unless  it  is  published  music  cannot  possibly 
get  known  ? 

•  •  •  •  •  • 

I  have  no  intention  of  alluding  to  my  own  work  in 
these  memoirs,  unless  to  make  passing  mention  of  such 
early  performances  as  happen  to  come  within  its  scope  ; 
but  there  is  one  incident  that  happened  some  years  later 
which,  for  women  at  least,  has  general  application,  and 
of  which  the  fugue  story  reminds  me.  I  once  showed  a 
big  choral  work  to  Levi,  the  great  Wagner  conductor — 


268  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED  1879 

an  open-minded  man  and  one  not  afraid  to  look  truth  in 
the  face.  After  hearing  it  he  said  :  '  I  could  never  have 
believed  that  a  woman  wrote  that !  '  I  replied,  '  No,  and 
what's  more,  in  a  week's  time  you  won't  believe  it !  '  He 
looked  at  me  a  moment,  and  said  slowly  :  '  I  believe  you 
are  right !  '  Prejudice  was  bound  to  prevail  over  the 
evidence  of  his  senses  and  intellect — in  the  end  he  would 
surely  feel  there  must  have  been  a  mistake  somewhere  ! 
...  It  is  this  back-wash  that  hampers  women  even  more 
than  material  obstacles. 

One  day  I  had  a  small  triumph  over  Brahms.  Among 
my  exercises  for  Herzogenberg  were  two-part  '  Inventions  ' 
in  the  Bach  manner,  and  Lisl  played  him  one  of  these  as 
a  new  find  unearthed  by  the  Bach  Society.  In  it  was  a 
certain  harmonic  turn  not  of  Bach's  time,  but  which  he, 
who  anticipated  most  things,  might  quite  well  have  used, 
and  Brahms's  remark,  which  I  must  quote  in  the  original, 
was  :  '  Dem  Kerl  fallt  doch  immer  wieder  was  Neues  ein  !  ' 
('  That  fellow  is  always  hitting  on  something  new ') .  When 
the  truth  came  out,  the  composer  was  warmly  commended 
— and  this  time  did  not  deserve  it.  It  was  just  a  bit  of  suc- 
cessful mimicry  that  any  fairly  clever  musician  might  pull  off. 

But  my  greatest  success  with  Brahms — who  by  the  by 
held  that  everyone  resembles  some  orchestral  instrument 
and  called  me  '  the  Oboe  ' — had  nothing  to  do  with  music. 
Piqued  by  his  low  estimate  of  my  sex,  I  wrote  a  little  sarcastic 
poem  the  last  verse  of  which  ran  : 

Der  grosse  Brahms  hat's  neulich  ausgesprochen  : 

'  Ein  g'scheidtes  Weib,  das  hat  doch  keinen  Sinn ! ' 
D'rum  lasst  uns  emsig  uns're  Dummheit  pflegen, 
Denn  nur  auf  diesem  Punkt  ist  Werth  zu  legen 
Als  Weib  und  gute  Brahmsianerin ! 

Translation 

As  the  great  Brahms  recently  proclaimed, 

'  A  clever  woman  is  a  thing  of  naught !  ' 
So  let  us  diligently  cultivate  stupidity, 
That  being  the  only  quality  demanded 
Of  a  female  Brahms  admirer  ! 


i879  IN  GERMANY  AND  ITALY  269 

That  night  he  was  at  a  supper  given  in  his  honour,  and 
the  mouth  of  everyone  who  approached  him  to  talk  about 
his  music  was  stopped  by  his  taking  the  poem  out  of  his 
breast  pocket  and  insisting  on  the  unfortunate  person  read- 
ing it.  This  characteristic  proceeding  went  on,  I  was  told, 
throughout  the  evening  and  must  have  maddened  the 
admirers. 

In  post -Leipzig  days  I  saw  little  of  him,  but  once  when 
I  was  passing  through  Vienna  and  called  on  him,  he  was 
more  than  kind  and  cordial  and  begged  me  to  fix  up  a  meal 
at  his  house  on  my  way  back.  Alas,  when  the  time  came 
he  was  away. 

In  jotting  down  these  various  impressions  I  am  quite 
aware  they  do  not  do  him  justice.  Even  then  I  knew  all 
about  his  wonderful  generosity  to  poor  musicians  and  old 
friends  fallen  on  evil  days.  I  noticed,  too,  that  even  the 
cynicism  about  women  was  belied  by  the  extreme  delicacy 
and  tenderness  of  his  work,  and  more  especially  by  his 
choice  of  words  to  set  to  music.  But  all  I  can  say  is  that 
this  poetical  insight  did  not  determine  his  working  theory 
(ascribed  by  some  foolish  persons  to  an  early  disappoint- 
ment in  love)  ;  and  the  point  of  memoirs — so  it  seems  to  me 
— is  to  relate  what  you  saw  yourself,  not  what  other  people, 
books,  or  subsequent  reflections  tell  you.  I  saw  integrity, 
sincerity,  kindness  of  heart,  generosity  to  opponents,  and 
a  certain  nobility  of  soul  that  stamps  all  his  music  ;  but 
on  the  other  hand  I  saw  coarseness,  uncivilised-ness,  a 
defective  perception  of  subtle  shades  in  people  and  things, 
lack  of  humour,  and  of  course  the  inevitable  and  righteous 
selfishness  of  people  who  have  a  message  of  their  own  to 
deliver  and  can't  run  errands  for  others.  When  Wagner 
died  he  sent  a  wreath  and  was  bitterly  hurt  at  receiving 
no  acknowledgement.  A  friend  of  the  Wagners  told  me 
gloatingly  that  Cosima  had  said  :  '  Why  should  the  wreath 
be  acknowledged  ?  /  understand  the  man  was  no  friend  to 
Our  Art ' — and  my  informant  added  :  '  It  was  a  mistake 
to  send  it  at  all/  ...  Of  such  was  the  Kingdom  of  Wagner. 

The  accounts  that  reached  the  world  of  his  cruel  illness 
and  death  were  infinitely  tragic,  for  he  fought  against  his 


270  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED  1879 

doom,  they  say,  and  like  a  child  when  bedtime  comes, 
wept  and  protested  he  did  not  want  to  go.  The  only  con- 
solation is|to  believe,  as  I  for  one  do,  that  his  best  work 
was  behind  him,  and  that  perhaps  Nature  did  well  to  ring 
down  the  curtain. 


CHAPTER  XXV 
SPRING  1879 

WHEN  Brahms  came  to  Leipzig,  as  he  did  nearly  every 
winter,  many  other  composers — unenvious  admirers  of  the 
greater  master  such  as  Dvorak,  Kirchner,  Grieg,  etc. — 
used  to  turn  up  by  magic  to  do  him  honour  ;  and  of  course 
they  all  flocked  to  the  Humboldtstrasse.  My  first  meeting 
with  Grieg,  whom  I  afterwards  came  to  know  so  well,  I 
remember  chiefly  because  of  a  well-deserved  smack  in  the 
face  it  brought  me.  Grieg,  whose  tastes  were  catholic, 
greatly  admired  the  works  of  Liszt.  Now  it  was  the 
fashion  in  my  world  to  despise  Liszt  as  composer.  But 
what  had  to  be  borne  as  coming  from  mature  musicians 
may  well  have  been  intolerable  in  a  student,  and  some 
remark  of  mine  causing  Grieg's  fury  to  boil  over,  he  sud- 
denly enquired  what  the  devil  a  two-penny  halfpenny 
whipper-snapper  like  me  meant  by  talking  thus  of  my 
betters  ?  Next  day  at  cockcrow  the  dear  man  came 
stumping  up  my  stairs  to  apologise,  and  this  incident  laid 
the  foundation  of  a  very  warm  feeling  between  me  and 
the  Griegs  which  came  to  fruition  later  on. 

During  that  winter  my  friendship  with  the  Wachs  grew 
and  consolidated,  and  what  is  more,  resulted  in  close 
relations  between  them  and  the  Herzogenbergs.  They  had 
lived  in  the  same  town  for  two  or  three  years,  and  I  really 
believe  would  never  have  got  beyond  mere  acquaintance- 
ship but  for  some  chance  connecting  link  such  as  myself. 
As  regards  aloofness  Lisl  found  her  match  in  Lili  (whom 
I  shall  allude  to  in  these  Memoirs  as  *  Lili  Wach,'  to  avoid 
confusion  with  '  Lisl ')  ;  but  once  the  ice  was  broken,  the 
two  women  became  intimate  friends,  and  I  often  think 

271 


272  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED  1879 

the  one  thing  Lisl  stood  slightly  in  awe  of  was  the  fastidious 
judgment  and  penetrating  instinct  of  Lili  Wach.  Both 
the  Herzogenbergs,  who,  like  myself  were  freethinkers, 
delighted  in  Wach,  except  at  funerals  and  other  functions 
involving  religion,  but  they  tolerated  and  even  admired 
the  simple  piety  of  their  old  friend  Frau  von  B. — mother 
of  the  Seven  Ravens — in  whom  it  was  a  fundamental, 
and  not,  as  you  sometimes  felt  with  Wach,  an  excrescence. 
By  this  time  Leipzig  balls  no  longer  tempted  me,  but 
there  were  other  opportunities  for  the  display  of  finery, 
such  as  big  routs  at  Frau  Livia's  or  the  Limburgers'  in 
honour  of  passing  celebrities.  On  these  occasions  Lisl 
took  great  interest  in  my  personal  appearance  ;  like  my 
mother  she  would  waylay  me  in  corners  and  passages  with 
pins  and  hairpins  that  saved  the  situation,  and  alas  !  what 
had  irritated  me  in  the  one  case  touched  and  delighted 
me  in  the  other !  My  musical  education  was  possibly 
being  narrowed  in  that  severely  classical  atmosphere,  but 
I  suppose  every  scheme  of  education  is  either  too  narrow 
or  too  diffuse.  Certainly  the  impulse  towards  Opera,  of 
which  I  had  been  conscious  in  the  days  of  Mr.  Ewing,  was 
checked  for  the  moment.  Though  exception  was  made  of 
course  in  favour  of  Mozart  and  '  Fidelio/  my  group  con- 
sidered opera  a  negligible  form  of  art,  probably  because 
Brahms  had  wisely  avoided  a  field  in  which  he  would  not 
have  shone,  and  of  which  the  enemy,  Wagner,  was  in 
possession.  Besides  this,  the  Golden  Age  of  Leipzig  had 
been  orchestral  and  oratorial,  and  both  musicians  and 
concert  public  were  suspicious  of  music-drama.  The  old 
families,  who  had  been  rooted  in  their  Gewandhaus  seats 
from  time  immemorial,  seldom  hired  boxes  at  the  Opera — 
partly,  perhaps,  because  under  the  system  of  abonnement 
it  was  played  alternately  with  drama  ;  anyhow  it  was  not 
the  fashion  among  our  Leipzig  grandees.  I  used  to  go 
and  hear  '  Carmen/  still  my  favourite  opera,  whenever  I 
had  a  chance,  and  was  indignant  at  Herzogenberg's  patro- 
nising remark  that  Bizet  was  no  doubt  '  ein  Geniechen  '  (a 
little  genius).  But  in  that  school  Bizet,  Chopin,  and  all 
the  great  who  talk  tragedy  with  a  smile  on  their  lips,  who 
dart  into  the  depths  and  come  up  again  instantly  like 


i879  IN  GERMANY  AND  ITALY  273 

divers — who,  in  fact,  decline  to  wallow  in  the  Immensities 
— all  these  were  habitually  spoken  of  as  small  people. 
How  I  thought  of  this  madness  the  other  day  when  some- 
one repeated  to  me  a  remark  Forain  had  just  made  at 
luncheon  :  '  1'art  se  tient  dans  le  creux  de  la  main  ! '  It 
appeared  they  had  been  discussing  Wagner,  who  evidently 
was  not  of  Forain's  way  of  thinking,  having  written  operas 
the  length  of  which  always  seemed  to  me  artistically 
arrogant — a  wilful  ignoring  of  the  limits  set  by  nature 
to  human  receptivity.  But  Wagner  is,  among  other 
things,  the  greatest  hypnotiser  the  world  has  ever  seen, 
and  for  the  hypnotised  time  does  not  exist. 

Another  curious  thing  about  the  Brahms  group  was 
that  orchestration  apparently  failed  to  interest  them, 
consequently  it  played  no  part  in  my  instruction.  No 
one  holds  more  strongly  than  the  writer  that  content 
comes  first ;  before  you  speak  it  is  well  to  have  something 
definite  to  say.  But  in  that  circle,  what  you  may  call 
the  external,  the  merely  pleasing  element  in  music,  was 
so  little  insisted  on,  that  its  motto  really  might  have 
been  the  famous  '  take  care  of  the  sense  and  the  sounds 
will  take  care  of  themselves ' — hardly  an  adequate 
outfit  for  a  musician  even  if  the  sounds  did  take  care  of 
themselves,  which  they  do  not.  Once  some  Orchestral 
Variations  of  Herzogenberg's  were  performed  which  I 
scarcely  recognised  for  the  same  I  had  admired  as  one 
of  the  inevitable  piano  duets,  so  bad  was  the  instru- 
mentation. 


But  whatever  the  defects  of  my  environment  may  have 
been,  in  it  I  learned  the  necessity,  and  acquired  the  love,  of 
hard  work,  as  well  as  becoming  imbued  with  a  deep  passion 
for  Bach,  which  I  think  is  in  itself  an  education.  As  I 
indicated  elsewhere,  Herzogenberg  and  his  Berlin  colla- 
borators were  constantly  discovering  and  editing  new 
wonders,  and  though  the  Leipzig  branch  of  the  Bach 
Verein  was  not  a  very  grand  affair  the  arrangement  and 
production  of  these  300-year-old  novelties  was  enthralling 
to  him  and  us.  In  the  early  autumn  and  late  spring  it  was 

VOL.  I.  T 


274  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED  1879 

our  custom  to  give  concerts  in  small  neighbouring  town- 
lands,  starting  early  in  various  reserved  third-class  com- 
partments, dining  at  an  inn,  and  contriving  to  walk  back 
part  of  the  way  towards  evening  through  the  woods.  Owing 
to  the  benighted  pitch  of  the  organs  in  some  of  these  remote 
country  churches  there  was  not  infrequently  trouble  with 
the  wind  instruments,  and  on  one  occasion,  a  certain  organ 
being  in  particularly  bad  repute,  the  Herzogenbergs  and 
I  paid  it  a  preliminary  visit  armed  with  a  horn.  He  under- 
stood the  valves  but  could  not  produce  a  sound  ;  I,  on  the 
contrary,  to  whom  the  valves  were  and  are  a  mystery  could 
at  least  blow  a  hunting  horn.  Meanwhile  Lisl,  physically 
a  model  St.  Cecilia  but  knowing  less  than  nothing  about 
that  saint's  instrument,  sat  at  the  keyboard  holding  a 
piercing  and  uncontrollable  '  a/  and  thus  between  us  we 
found  out  what  the  possibilities  were  of  a  friendly  relation 
between  horn  and  organ.  The  sacristan  was  scandalised, 
for  though  we  were  in  church  of  course  we  nearly  died  of 
laughing. 

On  these  concert  expeditions  Lisl  devoted  herself 
assiduously,  as  was  only  politic,  for  our  funds  were  never 
brilliant,  to  adoring  members  and  their  rich  friends.  All- 
day  excursions  with  almost  any  group  of  people  are  a  trial, 
but  one  moment  was  always  exquisite.  We  used  to  take 
part-songs  with  us,  and  after  drinking  coffee  in  some  wood- 
land restaurant  a  more  romantic  spot  in  the  forest  was 
selected,  the  tuning  fork  banged  on  a  stone,  and  in  that 
divinist  of  concert  rooms  we  made  divine  music.  To  be 
in  the  Bach  Verein  at  all  proved  you  were  a  serious,  indeed 
often  an  over-serious  and  exceedingly  narrow-minded 
musician,  and  if  some  of  our  members  were  not  in  their 
first  youth,  zeal  atoned  for  worn  out  vocal  chords.  And 
the  crown  of  all  was  that  the  whole  thing  came  to  about 
is.  6d.  per  head. 

By  the  time  Good  Friday  came  round  again  Papa 
Rontgen  considered  me  fit  to  take  my  place  among  the 
second  violins  in  the  annual  Passion  performance — no 
great  compliment  as  will  presently  be  seen — imploring  me 
passionately  to  keep  my  eye  on  the  leader  and  not  cut  in 


i879  IN  GERMANY  AND  ITALY  275 

at  wrong  moments  in  my  excitement.  These  performances—- 
held in  the  very  Thomas  Kirche  for  which  the  work  was 
originally  written,  and  of  which  Mendelssohn,  who  re- 
discovered the  Passion,  had  made  a  great  tradition — are 
among  the  most  unforgettable  experiences  of  my  life.  The 
proceeds  were  devoted  to  the  Widows  and  Orphans  Fund 
of  the  Gewandhaus  Orchestra,  but  according  to  a  curious 
by-law,  only  those  who  had  taken  an  active  part  in  the 
performance  had  a  claim  on  that  year's  balance.  Now 
many  modern  instruments  have  no  place  in  the  orchestra 
of  Bach's  time  ;  consequently  trombones,  bass  clarinets, 
and  other  outsiders  vamped  up  in  spare  hours  enough 
violin  to  scrape  their  way  through  Bach's  very  easy  string 
parts,  sitting  generally  in  the  ranks  of  the  second  violins. 
And  so  vilely  did  they  play  that  I  quite  understood  why  I 
had  been  allowed  to  join  them.  This  was  the  only  time 
I  ever  performed  in  an  orchestra,  and,  as  may  be  imagined 
under  the  circumstances,  I  was  astonished  at  the  hideous 
noises  produced  round  about  me — and  still  more  astonished 
the  following  year,  when  I  sat  below,  to  notice  how  little 
it  matters  in  a  big  choral  work  what  goes  on  at  some  of 
the  second  desks  ! 

I  count  it  as  one  of  the  great  privileges  vouchsafed  me 
that  I  learned  to  love  the  Passion  in  that  place  of  places, 
the  prestige  and  acoustic  properties  of  which  make  up  for 
the  dreariness  of  its  architecture.  In  one  of  the  side 
galleries,  close  up  to  the  orchestra,  which  was  grouped  aloft 
in  front  of  the  organ,  sat  the  Thomaner  Schoolboys,  repre- 
sentatives of  the  very  choir  of  which  Bach  was  Cantor.  I 
suppose  realising  these  things  has  something  to  do  with 
it,  but  never,  so  it  seems  to  me,  is  the  Chorale  in  the  opening 
chorus  so  overwhelming  as  when  trumpeted  forth  with  the 
pride  of  lawful  heirs  by  the  Thomaner  Chor. 

I  despair  of  giving  an  idea  of  the  devoutness  of  the 
audience.  Generally  speaking,  most  of  the  inhabitants  of 
Leipzig,  including  nearly  everyone  I  knew,  were  either 
exceedingly  conventional  churchgoers  or  unbelievers,  but 
on  this  occasion  the  dull  mist  of  religious  indifference 
appeared  to  lift  for  the  time  being.  It  was  not  only  that 
the  church  seemed  flooded  with  the  living  presence  of  Bach, 


276  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED  1879 

but  you  felt  as  if  the  Passion  itself,  in  that  heartrending, 
consoling  portrayal,  was  being  lived  through  as  at  no  other 
moment  of  their  lives  by  every  soul  in  the  vast  congrega- 
tion. This  is  the  divine  part  of  listening  to  such  music 
in  company  with  people  who  have  known  and  loved  every 
note  of  it  ever  since  they  were  born,  whose  natural  language 
it  is.  I  suppose  every  artist  can  say  of  one  or  two  hours 
in  the  past  that  in  these  he  touched  the  extreme  height 
and  depth  of  his  emotional  life  ;  such  hours  were  mine 
during  a  certain  Passion  performance  in  the  Thomas 
Kirche,  in  a  time  of  great  trouble,  a  few  years  later. 


The  Good  Friday  solemnity  is  the  supreme  flower  and 
conclusion  of  the  Leipzig  musical  season,  and  shortly  after- 
wards Lisl's  father  and  mother  appeared  on  the  scene,  but 
at  different  moments,  for  they  did  not  get  on  and  seldom 
met.  I  had  been  requested  when  in  England  to  send  some 
fairy-book  '  for  my  mother,  who  is  herself  a  regular  old 
fairy-tale/  When  I  saw  Baroness  von  Stockhausen,  nee 
Grafin  Baudissin,  I  said  to  myself :  '  The  Wicked  God- 
mother ! '  and  looking  the  other  day  at  a  superb  bust  of 
her  by  Hildebrand,1  belonging  to  one  of  her  grandchildren, 
there  is  no  denying  that  this  portrait  of  the  Evil  Genius 
of  my  life  bears  out  that  idea. 

She  was  German  by  marriage  only,  the  Baudissins  being 
of  Danish  extraction,  and  Lisl  was  proud  of  including 
among  her  ancestors  a  certain  learned  Count  Baudissin 
who  collaborated  with  Tieck  and  Schlegel  in  the  superb 
German  version  of  Shakespere,  but  was  too  modest  to 
allow  his  name  to  appear  on  the  title  page.  There  was 
also  a  Russian  ancestress — held  responsible  by  Lisl  for  some 
of  her  mother's  more  difficult  moods.  But  those  of  us 
who  know  our  Selma  Lager! of  are  content  to  give  Scandi- 
navia sole  credit  for  a  personality  that  would  have  put 
'  Gosta  Berling/  '  the  Commandante/  and  all  those 
elemental  primitives  into  the  shade. 

Of  a  magnificent  presence,  gifted,  witty,  and  violent 
as  ten  devils  rolled  into  one,  I  found  this  old  woman,  who 

1  Reproduced,  vol.  ii.  p.  104. 


i879  IN  GERMANY  AND  ITALY  277 

looked  like  a  Louis  XV.  Marquise,  very  attractive,  and 
hoped  she  would  like  me ;  but  unfortunately  I  was  hated 
at  first  sight  with  the  vitriolic  jealousy  of  one  who  had 
never  permitted  her  children  to  have  friends,  or  even 
playmates.  Herzogenberg,  who  was  rather  fond  of  his 
mother-in-law,  once  said  that  but  for  his  Jesuit  training 
he  could  never  have  achieved  the  winning  of  his  bride,  and 
I  noticed  that  this  jocular  reference  to  that  agitating  time 
rather  distressed  Lisl.  Most  of  her  girlhood  had  been 
passed  in  Austria,  where  the  aristocratic  family  tradition 
includes  a  very  strict  reading  of  the  Fifth  Commandment ; 
and  it  may  be  imagined  how  this  state  of  things  would 
commend  itself  to  a  mother  of  Frau  von  Stockhausen's 
temperament. 

The  father  was  an  icy-cold  Hanoverian  nobleman  for 
whom  the  world  had  ceased  revolving  round  the  sun  on 
the  day  when  the  Court  of  Hanover,  to  which  he  had  been 
Minister,  was  liquidated.  After  a  first  brief  meeting  with 
these  two  august  personages  I  was  implored  to  shun  the 
house  during  the  remainder  of  their  respective  visits.  Lisl 
was  deeply  pained  and  humiliated  by  her  mother's  out- 
rageous unfriendliness  towards  one  in  whom  she  had 
professed  the  most  charming  interest,  but  there  was  nothing 
to  be  done.  As  well  reason  with  Vesuvius.  Then,  for  the 
first  time,  I  noticed  my  friend's  abject  terror  of  conflicts 
.  .  .  and  also  her  inability  to  cope  with  them. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

SUMMER  1879  TO  SUMMER  1880 

I  WAS  about  to  say  most  truthfully  that  I  remember  abso- 
lutely nothing  about  the  holidays  of  1879,  when  turning 
to  Lisl's  letters  I  find  to  my  astonishment  that  for  a  brief 
moment  marriage  had  been  spoken  of  !  Perhaps  it  was  in 
connection  with  the  one  and  only  chance  I  had,  or  thought 
I  had,  of  making  a  '  brilliant '  marriage — a  transitory  after- 
glow of  the  '  Social  Ambition  phase ' — which  promised  both 
leisure  for  work  and  more  money.  As  I  have  forgotten 
no  real  inner  experience  however  mad  and  foolish,  and  had 
utterly  forgotten  this,  the  matrimonial  mood  must  have 
been  quite  evanescent,  but  Lisl's  letters,1  which  exhibit 
her  pure,  lofty  view  of  life  in  its  perfection,  followed  each 
other  in  swift  agony.  It  was  one  of  those  storms  in  a  tea- 
cup which  sprang  up  again  and  again  in  the  course  of  our 
friendship  ;  she  never  grasped  how  strongly,  yet  how  lightly, 
passing  moods  affect  people  of  the  impressionable  type, 
and  each  time  was  overwhelmed  afresh  with  apprehension. 
•  ••••• 

During  the  following  autumn  in  Leipzig  I  heard  Pan- 
Germanism  talked  for  the  first  time.  It  was  at  a  dinner- 
party, and  the  exponent  was  Dr.  Simson,  a  wise,  polished 
old  Jew,  President  of  the  Imperial  Court  of  Justice,  which 
as  a  sop  to  Saxony  sits  at  Leipzig.  Wach,  who  was  my 
neighbour,  and  suspected  of  aiming  at  the  Presidency  of 
the  Reichs-Gericht  himself,  whispered  in  my  ear  that  the 
whole  thing  was  a  wild-goose  scheme.  Presently  the  hand- 
some, grey -haired  old  President,  bending  across  the  table 

1  Appendix,  ii.  p.  26,  No.  12  ;  p.  27,  No.  13. 
278 


i879  IN  GERMANY  AND  ITALY  279 

in  the  most  courtly  way,  trusted  that  the  charming  young 
foreign  lady  whose  presence  was  such  a  delight  to  everyone, 
etc.,  etc.,  would  not  resent  what  he  was  about  to  say,  namely 
that  England  was  now  on  the  down-grade.  So  it  had 
been  successively  with  Spain,  Holland,  and  France,  the 
world  progressing  on  the  wheel  system.  And  the  country 
now  swinging  to  the  top,  and  about  to  relieve  us  of  the 
sceptre,  was  .  .  .  '  our  beloved  Fatherland/  That  con- 
versation remained  in  my  memory  chiefly  because  of  the 
speaker's  tactful  gilding  of  this  pill,  his  discourse  being 
shot  through  with  complimentary  references  to  the  great 
part  borne  by  us  in  civilisation.  As  for  his  thesis  that 
England  was  played  out,  it  seemed  too  ridiculous  to  get 
angry  about. 

I  cannot  remember  whether  the  new  doctrine  was 
ventilated  conversationally  or  in  a  speech  ;  where  pro- 
fessors are  present  the  two  things  are  much  the  same,  and 
the  occasion  being  rather  a  grand  one  there  were  many 
speeches  that  day.  I  was  by  no  means  insular,  I  think  ; 
a  great  many  German  institutions  that  would  not  appeal 
to  the  Anglo-Saxon  temperament,  such  as  the  periodical 
excursions  into  the  country  of  musical  and  other  guilds, 
the  Sunday  trooping  forth  of  whole  families  into  the  woods, 
and  even  the  '  Stammtisch  ' — a  table  at  restaurants  reserved 
night  after  night  for  the  same  group  of  bores — I  found, 
and  still  find  charming.  But  a  practice  no  amount  of 
familiarity  ever  reconciled  me  to  was  speechifying. 

The  Germans  say  of  themselves  that  wherever  three  of 
their  nation  are  gathered  together — say  at  the  North  Pole 
— they  instantly  found  a  '  Society  ' ;  if  so  I  believe  it  is 
chiefly  in  order  to  have  an  excuse  for  making  speeches. 
You  never  were  safe  from  them.  Even  at  gatherings  of 
old  friends  and  relations  your  heart  would  leap  into  your 
mouth  at  the  familiar  slow  tap-tap  on  a  wineglass,  followed 
by  the  sacramental  words  '  Verehrte  Anwesende  !  '  (Honored 
ones  here  present !)  while  an  expression  of  satisfaction,  such 
as  must  steal  over  the  faces  of  watchers  on  the  Rigi  when 
the  sun  rises,  transfigured  all  countenances — including  those 
of  would-be  modern  people  who  pretended  to  dislike 
speechifying. 


280  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED  1879 

I  once  saw  a  terrible  thing  happen  at  a  birthday  feast 

given  by  Frau  von  B .     The  parquet  floor  was  very 

slippery,  the  chairs — of  the  high-backed  top-heavy  antique 
kind — had  arms,  and  the  guests  were  so  numerous  that 
these  arms  were  touching  each  other.  A  pale,  melancholy 
man  with  dank  black  hair  who  sat  next  the  hostess  rose 
with  some  difficulty,  as  a  sardine  might  rise  out  of  a  freshly 
opened  box,  and  made  one  of  those  speeches  which  cause 
honoured  ones  there  present  to  stare  at  their  plates  and 
roll  bread-pellets,  the  theme  being  the  merits  of  the  deceased 
master  of  the  house.  It  was  well  meant  and  no  doubt 
sincere,  but  more  than  usually  platitudinal,  involved,  and 
sham-pathetic.  When  at  last,  after  an  over-intimate 
peroration,  the  speaker  sat  down  suddenly  as  if  overcome 
by  emotion,  the  chair  slid  away  from  behind  him  and  he 
absolutely  disappeared  from  view,  to  be  grasped  under  the 
armpits  and  hoisted  up,  swathed  in  folds  of  embroidered 
table-cloth,  by  the  horror-stricken  ladies  to  right  and  left 
of  him.  No  one  smiled  ;  the  tone  of  the  speech  made  it 
impossible  to  pass  the  thing  off  as  a  joke,  to  express  regret, 
or  do  anything  but  pretend  no  one  had  noticed  the  incident. 
And  this  feat  we  all  accomplished. 

On  the  other  hand  the  Fairs,  of  which  I  had  spoken 
disparagingly  in  an  early  letter  home,  ended  by  completely 
captivating  my  fancy.  The  great  Autumn  Fair,  with  its 
ramshackle  booths  and  strangely  costumed  traders  from 
all  parts  of  the  world,  including  Polish  Jews  of  a  concen- 
trated essence  of  Israel  seldom  seen  in  England,  was  really 
picturesque  ;  and  what  redeemed  it  from  the  vulgarity  of 
the  same  thing  at  International  Exhibitions  was  the  know- 
ledge that  everyone  was  there  on  business  only.  We 
particularly  loved  the  crockery  market,  which  was  held  On 
the  picturesque  side  of  the  town  ;  all  the  wares  were  strewn 
pell-mell  on  the  ground,  and  alas !  uncouth,  savagely  coloured 
descendants  of  antique  pottery  of  beautiful  design  were 
already  being  crowded  out  by  the  forerunners  of  TArt 
Nouveau  ;  when  you  chose  one  of  them  the  saleswomen 
thought  you  must  be  mad.  But  I  think  I  loved  the 
Christmas  Fair  best,  for  then  Birnam  Wood  came  to  Dun- 
sinane,  the  large  open  space  between  the  Museum  and  the 


i879  IN  GERMANY  AND  ITALY  281 

New  Theatre  being  turned  into  a  forest  of  snow-covered 
little  firs.  Whole  families  went  forth  to  choose  the 
Christmas-tree,  each  child  shriekingly  recommending  a 
different  one  till  '  mein  Mann  '  finally  clinched  the  matter. 

The  Christmas  of  1879  I  spent  in  Berlin.  There  had  been 
much  lamentation  on  my  part  because  the  Herzogenbergs 
were  suddenly  summoned  to  spend  the  Festival  with  her 
mother  at  the  Austrian  aunt's  Schloss,  but  shortly  before 
their  departure  I  made  the  acquaintance  of  a  couple,  the 
Conrad  Fiedlers,  who  were  destined  to  play  a  great  part 
in  my  life.  He  was  the  younger  son  of  a  grand  old  Leip- 
zigerinn  who  lived  with  her  eldest  son's  family  in  the  town 
house  in  winter,  and  at  her  beautiful  country  place  a  few 
miles  off  in  the  summer.  All  the  Fiedlers  were  very  rich, 
and  why  the  Conrads  had  settled  at  Berlin  I  never  could 
make  out,  for  they  both  detested  it  and  were  on  the  point 
of  migrating  to  her  native  town,  Munich. 

Conrad  was  of  a  type  you  seldom  meet  in  Germany, 
a  fairly  well  known  writer  on  philosophical  subjects,   an 
acknowledged  authority    on    painting    and    sculpture,    a 
generous    patron    of    struggling    talent,    and    yet  .  .  .  O 
wonder  !  attached  to  no  Institution  .  .  .  merely  a  gentle- 
man at  large.     More  than   usually  encased  in  a  certain 
Saxon  frigidity  that  contrasts  strangely  with  the  geniality 
of  the  other  brand  of  Saxon,  I  noticed  that  everyone  secretly 
coveted  his  esteem  and  that  his  word  always  carried  weight. 
His  wife  was  one  of  those  people  whom  all  portrait  painters 
pursue,  more  especially  if  the  husband  is  a  wealthy  art 
patron.     At  that  time  she  was  quite  young,  tall  and  striking 
looking,   with   daring,    gloriously    blue    eyes,    yellow-gold 
hair,    and  incomparable  colouring.     Unlike   most   of   the 
friends  mentioned  in  these  pages  she  is  still  alive,  therefore 
I  will  merely  say  that  we  were  very  fond  of  each  other  for 
years,  although  later  on,  after  her  first  husband's  death, 
when   she   and   Frau   Wagner  became  great  friends,   we 
gradually  drifted  apart.    A  gulf  was  bound  to  open  up 
sooner  or  later  between  intimates  of  Wahnfried  and  people 
refractory  to  the  Wagner  cultus.     Meanwhile,  whether  at 
Munich,  at  Crostewitz  (his  mother's  country  house,  where 


282  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED  1879 

an  ideal  summer  retreat  had  been  contrived  for  them  at 
one  end  of  the  homely  farm  quadrangle  attached  to  the 
Schloss)  or  at  their  Florentine  Villino,  their  kindness  to 
me  was  inexhaustible. 

I  first  met  these  new  friends,  as  I  said,  before  what 
promised  to  be  a  desolate  Christmas  bereft  of  Lisl,  and  with 
the  warm  impulsiveness  which  was  her  chief  charm,  Mary 
Fiedler  bore  me  off  to  Berlin  then  and  there. 

Curiously  enough  I  cannot  remember  anything  about 
my  first  impressions  of  the  town  itself  but  plenty  about 
the  people  I  met  there.  Of  the  Joachims  I  saw  a  good 
deal.  She  was  the  finest  contralto  I  ever  heard,  and  until 
she  got  too  fat,  the  Orpheus  of  one's  dreams.  Joachim 
according  to  all  English  people  was  of  course  perfection, 
but  I  saw  him  in  another  setting  and  never  wholly 
liked  him — perhaps  among  other  reasons  because  trouble 
was  even  then  brewing  in  his  house  and  all  my  sympathies 
were  with  the  wife,  who,  though  socially  far  less  satisfactory 
than  her  husband,  was  a  warm,  living,  human  being.  I 
wished  she  would  not  crawl  under  the  supper  table  in  a  fit 
of  New  Year  jollity,  armed  with  a  hat  pin,  but  why  did 
Joachim  allow  it,  I  asked  myself  ?  Why  did  he  sit  serenely 
at  the  head  of  the  table  looking  like  a  planed-down  Jupiter 
and  utter  no  remonstrance  ?  In  a  certain  letter l  Rubin- 
stein's answer  to  this  riddle  may  be  found,  and  though 
obviously  grotesque,  it  proves  that  I  was  not  the  only 
Joachim-heretic  in  the  world.  That  evening  he  told  me 
he  had  just  heard  Melba,  and  raved  about  her  ;  «  How  can 
one  speak  of  coldness/  he  asked,  '  in  connection  with  such 
phrasing  ?  '  Perhaps  he  knew  that  the  same  accusation 
was  often  levelled  against  himself,  and  in  both  cases  it  is 
obvious  what  people  meant — the  '  coldness/  compared 
to  Renaissance  work,  of  the  Delphic  Charioteer,  which  is 
not  to  everyone's  taste. 

Early  in  these  Memoirs  I  told  how  a  fully  fledged  but 
not  very  bright  cousin  of  mine  expected  to  see  smoke 
coming  up  through  the  water  when  trains  passed  under 
the  Basingstoke  Canal — an  anecdote  some  people  believe 

Appendix,  ii.  p.  in. 


i879 


IN  GERMANY  AND  ITALY 


283 


with  difficulty.  I  can  relate  a  fact,  also  on  oath,  about 
that  exceptionally  intelligent  and  cultivated  man,  Joachim, 
which  I  find  still  more  incredible,  namely  that  in  the  year 
1880  or  thereabouts  he  had  no  notion  that  the  figures  on 
the  metronome  refer  to  the  number  of  beats  per  minute. 
Herzogenberg,  speechless  with  amazement,  seized  him  by 
the  lapel  of  his  coat :  '  But  what  then,  dear  friend/  he 
asked,  '  do  you  represent  to  yourself  when  you  set  it  ?  ' 
'  Nothing ! '  answered  Joachim,  '  I  note  the  tempo  but 
have  never  troubled  my  head  about  the  basis  of  the  matter. 
...  I  supposed  it  was  .  .  .  well,  just  like  that  !  '  Where- 
upon Lisl  remarked,  '  Thank  God  !  now  I  hope  Heinrich 
will  cease  talking  about  women's  unarithmetical  brains/ 

It  was  in  Berlin  that  Christmas  that  I  first  met  Rubin- 
stein, and  in  unexpected  mood  too.  A  totally  talentless 
maiden,  relying  I  suppose  on  her  great  beauty — for 
his  weaknesses  were  notorious — had  insisted  on  play- 
ing to  him  with  a  view  to  being  advised  as  to  whether 
she  should  make  music  her  career.  When  she  had  done 
he  remarked  quite  simply  :  '  How  should  you  ever  become 
an  artist  ?  '  and  then,  taking  up  her  hand,  he  pointed  in 
succession  to  her  fingers,  her  forehead,  and  her  heart,  slowly 
saying '  hier  nix,  hier  nix,  und  hier  nix  !  ' — a  terrible  sequence 
of  nothingness  that  needs  no  translation.  There  was  one 
thing  only  that  roused  the  mild-mannered  Conrad  Fiedler 
to  frenzy — half  talents,  and  when  I  reported  this  incident 
he  was  delighted. 

I  also  saw  a  good  deal  of  two  paladins  of  Brahms's, 
Philip  Spitta,  the  chief  excavator  and  editor  of  lost  Bach 
treasures,  and  Chrysander,  the  biographer  of  Handel,  who 
told  me  there  were  masses  of  yet  un  deciphered  Early  English 
music  in  the  British  Museum  compared  to  which  the  work 
of  Palestrina  and  Co.  was  the  groping  of  children,  or  words 
to  that  effect.  After  Brahms's  death  two  letters  of  mine 
were  returned  to  me  (one  being  written  at  Sir  George 
Grove's  request  to  beg  the  loan  of  the  '  Tragic  Overture ' 
for  the  Crystal  Palace  Concerts)  and  I  find  I  well  rubbed 
in  the  learned  Chrysander's  tribute  to  despised  England. 
When  next  we  met  Brahms  asked  me  to  play  him  some 
Scotch  music,  and  after  listening  to  one  of  those  archaic 


284  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED  1879 

reels  the  first  phrase  of  which  is,  for  instance,  in  D  major 
and  the  second  in  C  major,  the  remark  was  :  '  And  this 
people  claims  to  be  musical '  !  .  .  . 

Fiedler's  collection  was  very  fine,  and  ranged  from  a 
superb  Holbein  to  the  early  works  of  the  great  German 
sculptor  Hildebrand,  whose  first  patron  he  was  and  whom 
he  completely  relieved  from  the  necessity  of  prostituting 
his  genius.     There  were  also  plenty  of  modern  German 
pictures  (including  about  ten  portraits  of  Mary) — Feuerbach 
and  Bocklin,  who  by  the  by  was  Swiss,  being  the  only 
names  I  can  recall ;    but  in  the  Museum,  introducing  me 
to  Manet  and  the  French  School,  he  once  remarked  :    '  Of 
course  one  must  encourage  native  talent  but  oh  !  for  some- 
thing on  this  level ! '  Feuerbach  I  thought  the  bore  of  bores 
and  loathed  Stuck,  but  Manet  seemed  impossible  to  take 
seriously.     I    marvelled   at    Conrad's    enthusiasm   though 
certain  he  was  right,  for  one  felt  he  knew.     He  introduced 
me  to  his  great  friend  Bode,  Director,  or  perhaps  then  he 
was  only  Sub-Director,  of  the  Museum.     I  never  was  sorrier 
for  anyone  than  for  that  man  when  I  next  saw  him,  in  1901. 
Under  a  monarch  who  did  not  paint  himself,  he  had  got 
together  a  wonderful   collection  of   modern  pictures,  the 
apple  of  his  eye.     But  now  he  was  in  deep  disgrace  ;   the 
pictures  were  stowed  away  under  the  roof,  where  it  was 
hoped  no  one  would  clamber  up  to  see  them,  and  there  had 
been  a  moment,  fortunately  staved  off,  when  a  particularly 
fine  Zuloaga  seemed  likely  to  leave   Berlin  for   ever  by 
command  of  the  All  Highest.     Altogether  that  short  stay 
in  Berlin  was  most  kindling,  and  was  to  lead  to  further 
developments  before  long. 

Meanwhile  I  was  being  a  subject  of  strife  in  a  distant 
ancestral  home.  Lisl  wrote  of  '  my  poor  mother's  King 
Lear-like  feelings/  and  when  we  met  in  Leipzig  I  gathered 
that  the  family  meeting  had  not  been  an  unqualified  success. 

That  winter  two  English  friends  turned  up,  St.  John 
Brodrick  and  another  man  I  will  not  name,  merely  saying 
that  he  afterwards  became  Headmaster  of  one  of  our  great 
public  schools  and  was  considered  in  England  to  be  very 


i88o  IN  GERMANY  AND  ITALY  285 

musical,  mainly  because  he  sang  German  songs  in  German. 
I  introduced  him  of  course  to  my  friends,  but  what  I  did 
not  bargain  for  was  his  proposing  to  perform  himself  and 
asking  Lisl  to  accompany  his  wooden,  business-like  rendering 
of  a  particularly  romantic  song  of  Brahms' s,  the  refrain  of 
which  gave  full  scope  for  our  very  peculiar  English  *  r.' 
The  effect  was  indescribably  comic.  I,  naturally,  was 
covered  with  shame  ;  as  for  Lisl,  she  literally  laid  her  head 
on  the  music  to  conceal  her  laughter,  while  the  singer 
plodded  on  sturdily,  far  too  pleased  with  himself  to  notice 
anything.  But  whereas  she  was  only  amused  at  this 
exhibition  and  forthwith  added  an  incomparable  bit  of 
mimicry  to  her  repertory,  Herzogenberg  was  irritated  at 
the  bottomless  cheek  of  this  countryman  of  mine,  especially 
after  he  had  upset  the  cream-jug  over  Lisl's  black  velvet 
gown,  merely  remarking  :  '  that  comes  of  gesticulating/ 

In  April  the  Herzogenbergs  went  to  Italy,  and  my 
longing,  inflamed  by  contact  with  the  Fiedlers,  to  go  there 
myself  was  such,  that  I  begged  her,  as  in  the  case  of  hunting 
in  the  home  correspondence,  never  to  mention  the  word 
'  Italy '  in  her  letters — a  piece  of  unreasonableness  and  in- 
tense selfishness  that  serene  well-balanced  person  could  not 
understand  but  reproachfully  gave  in  to.  On  my  mother's 
birthday,  June  2,  there  was  a  performance  at  the  Wach's 
by  Rontgen  and  his  team  of  a  string  quartett  of  mine,  a 
mere  piece  of  student's  work  of  course.  I  have  said  hard 
things  about  German  speechifying,  but  on  this  occasion 
Wach  made  a  most  beautiful  little  speech  about  my  mother, 
and  about  absent  friends  who  did  their  best  to  replace  her 
as  regards  one  of  her  children.  By  that  time  Lisl's  raillery 
had  almost  cured  my  childish  habit  of  tears,  but  it  was 
difficult  to  keep  them  back  then.  There  were  two  great 
bonds  between  me  and  Lili  Wach,  who  was  very  religious 
— my  thorough  knowledge  of  the  Bible,  and  my  devotion 
to  my  mother — and  I  noticed  this  speech  of  her  husband's 
moved  her  as  much  as  it  did  me.  Afterwards  I  got  up 
and  silently  kissed  him ;  the  action  wasn't  ridiculous 
and  seemed  so  to  no  one.  I  don't  think  anything  ever 
gave  my  mother  greater  pleasure  than  hearing  about  that 
evening. 


286  IMPRESSIONS  THAT  REMAINED  1880 

Part  of  the  early  summer  of  1880  I  spent  at  Crostewitz, 
and  was  thrilled  to  see  the  small  round  cannon  balls  of  1813 
still  sticking  in  the  walls  of  the  house.  Madame  Fiedler, 
as  everyone  called  Conrad's  mother  (a  nomenclature  dating 
from  the  cannon-ball  era  and  which  seemed  only  to  have 
survived  in  her  case)  kept  open  house,  and  on  Saturdays 
and  Sundays  the  lake  and  skittle-ground  swarmed  with 
the  *  nice  '  people  of  the  neighbourhood,  reinforced  by  stiffly 
buttoned-up,  heel-clicking  officers  from  the  garrison.  Later 
on  a  gorgeous  supper  was  served  in  a  big  verandah  fronting 
the  wood-girt  lake,  followed  by  cards  for  the  seniors,  and 
society  games,  boating,  and  flirtation  for  the  juniors. 
Madame  Fiedler  was  passionately  fond  of  whist,  and  one 
evening  I  heard  her  remark  to  a  profusely  decorated  General 
and  Excellenz  who  had  just  lost  her  the  game,  that  she 
feared  the  young  ones  were  better  at  loving-making  than 
their  elders  at  cards.  This  characteristic  little  dig,  delivered 
with  a  pensive,  kindly  smile,  went  home,  the  Excellenz's 
spendthrift  son,  a  Lieutenant  in  the  Guards,  being  at  that 
moment  engaged  in  exploring  the  woods  with  a  penniless 
beauty.  Mary,  who  detested  these  gatherings,  would 
generally  plead  ill-health  and  retire  to  her  vast  bed,  where 
she  partook  of  a  delicate  supper  and  half  a  bottle  of  cham- 
pagne. Country  joys  did  not  appeal  to  her,  and  most  of 
her  time  at  Crostewitz  was  spent  in  that  bed. 

Madame  Fiedler's  eldest  son,  Philipp,  goodnaturedly 
gave  me  the  run  of  his  stable,  and  the  two  astonished 
carriage  horses  were  driven  tandem  about  the  tortuous, 
rut -riven  lanes.  One  of  them,  a  grey  whose  hind-quarters 
I  thought  looked  like  jumping,  was  even  urged  over  the 
fences  on  the  steeple-chase  course.  Once  we  came  a  terrific 
crash  which  slightly  crippled  both  me  and  my  mount  for 
a  time  and  nearly  killed  Madame  Fiedler,  who  though  the 
most  masterful  of  old  chatelaines  was  exceedingly  nervous 
about  animals.  Dreamy  Doctor  Philipp — of  course  like 
all  cultivated  Germans  he  had  taken  his  degree  in  philosophy 
— was  a  poet  of  real  talent  gone  to  seed  (for  unfortunately 
he  versified  as  some  people  chatter,  without  reflection  or 
self-control),  and  the  result  of  this  adventure  was  a  fantastic 
poetical  drama  in  which  all  the  personages  of  our  little 


i88o  IN  GERMANY  AND  ITALY  287 

world  were  introduced  with  pseudonyms  of  the  '  Pilgrim's 
Progress '  kind.  For  instance  Mary  was  '  Lockenlicht ' 
(Shining-locks),  Herzogenberg  '  Canonicus  Fugenfiirst ' 
(Canon  Fugue-prince),  Lisl  '  Etherzart '  (Delicate-as-Ether), 
the  author  himself,  who  had  been,  much  blamed  by  his 
wife  and  mother  for  lending  me  the  horse,  '  Doctor  Unbe- 
dacht '  (Doctor  Thoughtless),  and  so  on. 

This  kindly  man  had  one  little  weakness,  a  tendency  to 
exaggerated  thrift,  and  if  everyone  had  not  already  known 
that  Madame  Fiedler's  open-handed  hospitality  caused  her 
heir  some  heartburnings  they  would  have  guessed  it  from 
his  naive  choice  of  a  pseudonym  for  her — '  Frau  Spendegern  ' 
(Mrs.  Glad-to-Spend).  In  conclusion  the  play  was  called 
'  Miss  Hopp-in-die-Welt ' — here  no  translation  is  required — 
and  was  supposed  to  be  very  complimentary  to  the  heroine, 
but  to  see  ourselves  as  others  see  us  is  seldom  all  satisfaction. 
I  mention  this  amazing  production,  in  which  there  are 
some  very  pretty  verses,  because  the  whole  incident  was  so 
typical. 

That  spring  there  was  a  good  deal  of  tennis  at  Dolitz, 
the  Limburgers'  country  house  (though  the  real  Dolitz 
period  came  later)  and  there  was  also  a  plan  of  my  going 
to  Ober  Ammergau  with  Johanna  Rontgen  ;  but  the  absurd 
thing  is  that  I  cannot  remember  whether  it  came  off  or 
whether  I  only  assisted  at  the  performance  in  the  illustrated 
papers — pests  that  take  the  edge  off  everything  but  acutest 
first-hand  impressions.  Anyhow  I  know  that  I  eventually 
joined  my  mother  at  Homburg,  she  having  been  convoyed 
thither,  very  ill,  by  one  of  my  married  sisters,  and  remember 
her  maid  remarking  scornfully  as  she  struggled  with  the 
usual  chest  of  drawers  fitted  with  one  key  only  :  '  I  suppose 
the  Germans  don't  know  what  knobs  is.'  After  that  we 
went  on  to  Ragatz,  where  alas  !  as  at  Homburg,  I  jeered 
at  mother's  enthusiasm  for  the  Kurhaus  bands.  On  the 
way  home  we  spent  a  couple  of  days  in  Paris  ;  although 
she  was  hardly  able  to  stand  a  few  new  bonnets  were  picked 
up,  and  on  this  journey,  as  ever  when  she  was  really  ill, 
her  pluck  and  cheerfulness  filled  me  with  admiration. 
And  so  to  England,  where  the  financial  situation  was  much 
discussed  and  nothing  radical  done  to  meet  it. 


Printed  by  SPOTTISWOODE,  BALLANTYNE  &•  Co.  LTD. 
Colchester,  London  (&•  Eton,  England 


.  i -inn  c-  i 


ML      Smyth,  (Dame)  Ethel  Mary 

410        Impressions  that  remained 

S66A3 

1919 

v.l 

Music 


PLEASE  DO  NOT  REMOVE 
CARDS  OR  SLIPS  FROM  THIS  POCKET 

UNIVERSITY  OF  TORONTO  LIBRARY